Shattered Reflections (Old)
by MythicDragonRider
Summary: After a few odd encounters in reflective surfaces, broken teacups, and urgent phone calls, a different- and yet similar- dimension is discovered. But, no invasions on either side are planned, and they are basically forced into a truce by their rather precarious situation. We're all the same boat, we should help each other! ...Right? 1P,2P. Rating for dark themes, gore, violence.
1. Mirror Image

**Hey Guys!**

 **2p!Hetalia. You see it everywhere. So I decided to make my own. Hopefully it's unique and interesting enough.**

 **So Companions still exists. I think. Honestly, it might have all been a figment of my imagination. But, as a Hetalian, and as someone who got bored in class and wrote 10 pages of 2p!Hetalia, I had a duty to upload this. Stuff about this fanfic:**

 **1\. MULTIPLE CHAPTERS, BABY!  
2\. *coughs* no uploading schedule *coughs*  
3\. No idea how many chapters there will be!  
4\. I'm probably the only one in this fandom who doesn't ship countries. *SHOCKED GASPS* Yeah, I'm weird. I do ship them in human AUs, but I still find it ridiculous to ship two bodies of land. I'm weird. You're weird. WE'RE ALL WEIRD!  
5\. Most of the 2ps will be based off popular interpretations, but sometimes I'm a special flower and make up my own stuff. 2p Magic Trio is really hard to write, seriously.  
6\. This is set before all that recent world news and stuff because I don't keep up with it. This is set in the same time as most Hetalia fanfics when all that Russia stuff hadn't happened along with all that stuff I don't know about.  
7\. When I'm not horribly murdering characters, I keep my stories family-friendly. I can't cure the characters potty-mouths, but I can just say "he swore" or censor the swearing. I don't think this will have any effect on the overall quality of the work.**

 **Okay! That sums it up! Let us venture into the story!  
Enjoy!**

* * *

Shattered Reflections

Chapter 1

Forgotten dreams still whirled in England's head as he leaned against his kitchen counter-top, listening to the high whistling of his well-used kettle. He gritted his teeth at the shrill sound, and tapped his foot impatiently. He had awoken at 5:30 in the morning, as was his usual time, but his internal clock had not remembered there was to be a G8 meeting at his place, and he therefore could sleep in nicely. He would need all the sleep he could get for dealing with the other nations, even if there only were 7 of them. Now, as the kettle stopped boiling, he selected a teacup and started to make his tea. The stirring of the beverage calmed him, and he even found himself, very uncharacteristically, humming a small tune under his breath he strode towards the lounge room and quickly glanced at his reflection in the full-length mirror in the hallway.

It wasn't really his reflection, though.

It had, unlike his blonde hair and green eyes, strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. Instead of his dark green dressing gown, it wore a pink vest, blue bow tie and a white shirt underneath. The Brit could only see his top half, where it's legs should've been was only darkness, but it had a wide grin on its face. Everything behind it was black, as well as some object it held in its hand. The reflection blinked, and its grin lessened until it had a confused expression on its face. England blinked back, baffled. His fairy friends were a common sight to see around him, but he had never seen any in his mirror before, let alone sharing and eerie resemblance with him.

"H-Hello?" he stammered, attempting (and failing) to be cautious.  
"Hello there!" the not-England replied. It had a distinctive British accent, albeit a little unlike his own.  
The not-England grinned and asked, "So, then. Who might you be?"  
It took him a few moments to pull himself together enough in order to answer it, "E-England..."  
The reflection's eyes widened, and then its grin grew bigger, "Now that's mighty curious. I'm England!"  
He blinked and stood there staring at his doppelganger. The reflection stared, too, with a crazy look on its face.

He noticed that the object that the not-but-apparently-also-England was holding seemed to be in a shape of a butcher's knife. He certainly didn't want to get to know the twisted reflection.  
"Parallel dimension-" England was cut off.  
"Possibly," the odd blue-eyed England affirmed, "Oh, then! Call me Oliver! Do you have a human name?"  
"Arthur..."  
The not-but-also-England-apparently-called-Oliver put down the knife-shaped object and clapped its hands excitedly, "Now this is fun! Would you please excuse me?"  
Oliver turned its head and disappeared into blackness, and he found himself staring at his normal reflection.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of breaking china. He swore and ran into his kitchen, and found all his teacups broken by some invisible force. He cursed under his breath. Somehow, that crazy doppelganger reflection _thing_ had broken his teacups. It must be able to use magic, like himself.  
He set down his cup of tea and used the dusty dining table to steady himself. What the heck was going on?

* * *

As he pondered the likeliness of a parallel universe, his phone rung. He jumped at the unexpected noise, and knocked over the only remaining teacup in the house. Great. Now he had more mess to clean up and no tea until he bought more cups. He angrily took out his phone and answered with an enraged, "What?!"  
"...England?" he heard the distinctive voice of Norway.  
"Oh, sorry. You made me break the only remaining teacup in my house. ...I think an entity from a parallel universe just destroyed my fine china."  
"...Did your reflection look different than normal and talk to you?"  
"Yes. How did you know?"  
"Well, Romania and I had that happen to us, too. The teacups are new to us, though... Stay right there. We're coming over."  
"I have a G8 meeting at my place today. This better not take long."  
"Call Germany and say you might be late. This matter is more important. Also, stay away from reflective surfaces."  
And with that, Norway hung up.

England decided to phone America instead, just to annoy him and wake him up. He usually wasn't one for such pranks, but he was in a lousy mood. He sighed, angry at Oliver in his stupid alternate dimension, and glared at his broken teacups. He decided to clean them up first, and laboured picking up all the fragments, swearing occasionally as a shard pierced his skin. When he had finished, depositing all the shards into a garbage bag, he bandaged his fingers, then took out his phone. After 4 or 5 rings, the phone was picked up.

"Dude... It's like, 6:00 in the morning," he heard the dreary voice of America through the phone.  
"So?" England couldn't help but smile at America's irritation.  
"What do you want?" America asked.  
"I might be late today."  
"At your own meeting?" America growled. He didn't like to be woken up early, and definitely not by England claiming he was going to be late as the host country.  
"...Something came up. Watch out for random phone calls from Norway that make you break teacups. And stay away from reflective surfaces," England hung up before America could question him any further.

America sighed. He didn't even like tea.

* * *

The Brit preoccupied himself until Norway and Romania arrived by doing few menial tasks to prepare for using magic and covering or stashing away all the reflective surfaces in his house. It was a mighty job, and he was only halfway through when he heard a knock on the door.

He answered it to see Norway and Romania burst in, garbed in magical attire (before anything else, England had also donned a black cloak) as well as carrying multiple books on black magic and dimensional travel and communication. He nodded towards the pile of books he had gathered from his vast library, and they lay theirs on the coffee table.  
"So, then," England stated, "What do we do now?"  
"Firstly, we need to find the source of the communication. We need to know who created the portal," Norway explained.  
"I think we should investigate the parallel magic trio! They may be the ones behind all this," Romania mused.  
"But how? They're in another dimension for goodness sakes!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Hmm... We could try talking to them? I mean, it's not like they can hurt us through the mirror. Besides, who says they even want to hurt us?" Romania hypothesized.  
Norway raised an eyebrow, "How do you know that? We have no idea what the rules of the mirror are. They could possibly be able to reach through the mirror, force objects through the mirror or even pass through it. We don't properly know their personalities and certainly don't know their true intentions. They could easily be trying to hurt us as helping us. What would be their motives for helping some random nations from a parallel dimension? No, it's too risky."

"Well, we could at least try to talk to them like normal human beings. Well, rather, nations. But still! It could be an accident! Who says that they wanted this? Maybe they're talking about it right now, and think we're evil!" shouted Romania.  
Norway shook his head, "Or they could be plotting our downfall. It's just too risky. Besides, I don't know about you, but my reflection certainly didn't seem like one who could be the all-friendly type. From what I've seen so far, it is the exact opposite from me, and I'm not certainly plotting its downfall. Then, where does that leave them?"  
"Oh, yeah? Just because-" Romania started.

"Both of you shut up!" England interrupted. Romania gulped and Norway looked at him with a curious expression.  
"Arguing will get us nowhere. We need to think. I believe both of you make valid points. Certainly they could be passive, but we don't have enough information to judge them just yet. We should figure out more before we blame them or trust them," England growled.

Romania sat back in his chair, subdued, "Okay, then. But how will we discover more information if the only way to see the other world is to look through the mirror?"  
"Let's just gather the information about them now and make decisions then," the Brit sighed.  
Norway nodded, "Alright, then. I'll start with its appearance. It had blonde hair, a little darker than my own, with purple-blue eyes and skin colour somewhat alike mine. Most noticeably, though, it had a large burn mark on the right side of its face and down its neck. He wore a red scarf and a white button-up shirt. His personality, though, was very different to mine. He seemed very bubbly and energetic..."

Romania frowned, "Okay, then. Mine had dark black hair, blue eyes and he wore black and cobalt on his clothing. As for his personality, he seemed a little withdrawn. But, during our conversation..."

"It seemed a little crazy, and yet acted like it was perfectly normal...?" England guessed.  
Romania tilted his head, "Yes, you summed it up perfectly. How did you know?"  
"Because I experienced something similar talking to mine," England explained, "It had strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and wore a pink vest and a blue bow tie over a white shirt. Its personality... It was eccentric and acted all nice and sweet but was very menacing in some way I couldn't place... Plus, I'm almost certain it broke my teacups, so it has that going for it."

They continued talking and consulting their reflections until England noticed he was oddly hungry, "I just realised I never had breakfast..."  
Norway seemed to think for a moment, "Neither did Romania or I. We were so preoccupied getting here we never paused to eat... I volunteer to cook."

Arthur frowned. That last part was in a odd tone, and almost too fast.  
"Alright, then. We'll have breakfast then continue talking. I only wish I had tea to top it off... Damn that reflection."

* * *

 **Phew. That was almost the most I've written for a fanfiction in one sitting.  
I tried really hard to write Romania and Norway. I did. Please don't blame me if their characters suck, but constructive criticism is appreciated!  
I pretty much went solo on 2P!Romania. His character is seriously underwritten.  
**

 **Warning: There is something in this chapter that will mean A LOT in the future of this fic. Don't type it in reviews if you notice it or suspect you do, keep it to yourself until you find out if you were right. I at least want a little surprise for some readers.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	2. An Outlandish Condition

**Hey Guys!**

 **Just to tell you, I've planned out the story and there will be 53 chapters with a possible epilogue. It's definitely going to be a rollercoaster.  
Oh, and I realise that nations go to a hotel room before G8 meetings, sorry about the mistake in the last chapter. I changed it so the meeting is in London, instead. England lives there, so he is at his personal home.**

 **Thank you to:  
**

 **SilverStarJones  
Vanilla-Tsun**

 **For reviewing my story.  
I'll tell you now this story isn't going to be completely like other 2p/1p fics. It has nothing to do with world domination or anything like that. It has a different and (hopefully) unique storyline.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Shattered Reflections

Chapter 2

Silence enveloped the meeting room. It definitely wasn't usual for England to even be partially late, let alone one hour late to the meeting he was hosting. Though America had relayed England's message (after a short episode in which he had completely forgotten about it) there was an air of unease hanging over the nations. They had tried to start the meeting, but for some reason there was a sinking feeling of absolute dread in the room. Not only was England late, but there was a sensation they couldn't explain, a deep sense of foreboding, apprehension. And, maybe if they could look into the future, their dread could be explained. But not now. Now was only a piece in the interlocking puzzle. The false feeling of security was so strong it acted as a fog, and they couldn't see the trap, the web, until they had fallen right into it.

Germany gritted his teeth. This silence was... ...unpleasant. If only England was here, then everyone would be squabbling and fighting as usual, and he'd have to calm them down and they would get nothing done and everything would be normal. But, this was so very unnormal. Unusual. Unexpected. Though the chaos was not present, he would've much preferred it to this. It wasn't just England's absence. He had a terrible feeling that this moment would play a huge part in some scheme that he had no influence in. He shook his head. No. He was just imagining things... They should get something done.

He decided to break the silence, "...Maybe we should phone England? He never said why he would be late, did he?"  
America was glad for the distraction, "Uh, no. I'll call him."

He hastily pulled out his phone and pressed England's contact, putting it on speaker. The device rung three times before it was answered, "Yes?" The voice had a tinge of anger and irritation in it, mixed with a slight tone of unease.  
"Why are you late? You said you would be, but you never said why," America was too unnerved by the atmosphere, since even he could sense the tense mood in this situation, to make any obnoxious comments.  
"...There is a certain problem I need to fix," his response was delayed.  
France asked after a brief pause, "Is there a problem in your country...?"

They heard England sigh over the phone, "I wish it was that simple. No... This problem is very important and cannot wait to be solved."  
"And what is that...?" Germany questioned hesitantly, with a tinge of irritation at England being so evasive.

"Uh... Well, there may be a slight... Rip in the fabric of time-space," England said the last part quickly.  
Germany raised an eyebrow, "What is that supposed to mean?"  
England ignored the question, "I have Norway and Romania with me. Though I have help, I doubt I will have enough time to get to the meeting. Now, listen carefully, since I'm not repeating it. It would be best if you stay away from all reflective surfaces. If you do happen to see your reflection, and it happens to change shape, or talk to you, or both, then phone me, Norway or Romania immediately. Don't try to talk with it. It may try to trick or beguile you. If you follow these instructions, then this issue might even be solved before the meeting is over."

America groaned, "Can't you save all your stupid magic stuff?"  
"This is not 'stupid magic stuff'! It is very important. At the moment, we don't even know the size of the threat! If we fail to fix this, and it is, indeed, the worst estimated possibility, our entire universe could be destroyed," England growled- he had no time for America's antics, "Now, if you would excuse me, I have a dimensional rift I need to fix."

* * *

Oliver hummed happily as he combed through his magic books. He loved the crinkled old pages, the smell of the aged paper, and it reminded him of his secret trove of little recipes he kept hidden in a drawer in his rarely used study, buried beneath various books and pieces of paper- which had the distinctive musk of experience and were jotted down in a fine-tipped quill. Despite popular belief, he didn't poison everything he baked or cooked, or put something even worse in it. Sometimes his baking was pleasant, but his fellow nations had long known not to trust anything that came out of Oliver's kitchen. He didn't blame them.

Anyway, he was searching for a certain incantation. Well, not really 'certain'. He just dog-eared any pages that mentioned the words 'parallel dimension' or 'dimensional rift' or 'inter-dimensional communication' (despite his insistence to care after all the books he owned, either cooking books or old leather-bound journals, he didn't really mind this practice, since he usually just couldn't be bothered to hunt down a bookmark). The warped reflection he had seen earlier, which he had quickly noted seemed to have a personality opposite to his (though this may be discounted, since it seemed to be under the same element of surprise as himself), would not go unnoticed in a world in which such a delicate balance existed in the rules of and workings of magic. He liked to think of it in metaphors- if one part of the thin sheet of glass was cracked, the rest would surely shatter. Whether this was to assure himself he still had some complex- and possibly moral- workings in his twisted mind, or just to simply amuse himself that the world could be so easily destroyed, he was not sure.

So, as he looked attentively, and possibly was even thoroughly enjoying himself (it was rare he got such a break from his duties, that he could consider as actual work), when the doorbell rung. It was a cheery tune- he had made sure of that when he had first purchased it- but the simple irritation of knowing he had to converse when he was having such a fun time almost made him groan, but he stopped himself. He always stayed happy, and never really expressed his displeasure.

"Come in~!" he chirped, though he didn't want the visitor to come in at all, attempting to convince himself of his contentment with the tone of his voice. He heard the door open, and returned to his flicking, knowing he would recognize whoever-it-was without even looking. Sure enough, he heard the familiar grumble of America's voice, "What on earth are you doing? Don't tell me it's that stupid magic stuff again..."  
"It's not stupid, dearie! It does seem to be important, so please just tell me the purpose of your visit!" England replied, knowing full well that Allen wouldn't visit him for no particular reason.  
Oliver could almost feel Allen grimacing, "Well, your stupid phone's turned off, so I had to f**king visit to tell you about the Allies reunion tonight. You should know about these things."

"Swear jar! It really is tonight? Awh, I'm busy~!" Oliver grinned as he found a particularly detailed description on inter-dimensional communication, folding the dog-ear at the bottom instead of the top to indicate it's significance.  
Allen did an odd combination of a sigh and a groan, but the Brit made a point to watch until he had forked over the money and placed it in the nearly overflowing jar, before returning to his skimming.  
Allen was glowering into Oliver's back, "Well, come anyway! Despite being such a f**king jerk, you always come to our events... Even if it is to chide everyone about swearing and attempt to sneak arsenic into people's food." The last part was barely murmured.

The American knew he was distracted when Oliver completely ignored him, and didn't even tell him to deposit money into the regularly used jar, "Why is your magic stuff so important, anyway?"  
Oliver completely ignored him, causing him to get even more enraged, "Listen to me, you stupid f**king idiot!"

The Brit looked up with an innocent expression, and replied almost inaudibly, "Swear jar." Then he broke out into an almost sadistic grin.  
This made Allen pick up his somewhat worn baseball bat he had placed on a side table, all covered with cracks patched up horribly, and nails sticking out for the purpose of hurting people. There were even a few patches of dried blood, obviously left there by previous victims. Oliver frowned as he saw this, and stood up, skipping towards the kitchen, where he kept a very lovely skinning knife. Allen's eyes narrowed, and he rushed towards the strawberry blonde. But, before he could reach him, Oliver had achieved a particularly nasty butcher knife, and he was grinning in triumph.

"Now, then. I really think it's time for you to leave. Would you like me to show you the door~?"  
With a sadistic gleam in his eyes, Oliver tossed the knife at Allen. It embedded itself in his shoulder, and he swore violently, ripping it out of his flesh. The bloody knife stained the living room carpet (Allen really hadn't made it far to the kitchen), thrown down by the injured American. He half-ran, half-stomped to the door, tearing the it open (and off it's hinges.)

Oliver frowned as he was left alone, "Oh, dear. Blood is awfully hard to clean up"

* * *

After a few more attempts to start, the nations had mutually given up on the meeting, knowing they would get nothing done that day. So, they sat in an uncomfortable silence, all the while wondering what a dimensional rift was. Alfred claimed he need to go to the toilet when a few minutes had passed, if only to get away from the pressing quiet. He didn't like the hush. It was too disquieting. Too... ...sinister. This was not calm, it was anxious, deadly. He needed to get away, even if it was just for a few moments.

As he was washing his hands, he looked into the bathroom mirror. He knew he was supposed to stay away from reflective surfaces, but still... Everything was probably just a prank, he reassured himself, feeling doubt entwined in the pit of his stomach. Then again, England had never been one for pranks. Well, then, there was still nothing to get worried about. Magic didn't exist! ...Right?  
While his tempestuous thoughts whirled in his disorderly mind, the reflection in front of him distorted. He jumped back, shocked, and stared at it with wide eyes.

The reflection had tanned skin, unlike his own somewhat light shade, and sort of reddish-brown hair, not his blonde. He held a baseball bat, embedded with nails, that he didn't particularly wanted to know the use for, but a feeling of dread told him he already knew. He had tinted sunglasses on the top of his head, and wore casual clothes. There was a nasty wound on his left shoulder, which the reflection was currently patching up. His mouth was twisted into a grimace, probably from provoking it. But the most striking thing about him, despite the ugly wound, was his horrible red eyes, the colour of freshly drawn blood.

The bloody pools widened as they settled upon Alfred, and he almost dropped the bandage he was using, mouth agape in shock.  
He seemed about to talk to Alfred, when said American fled, remembering England's words at the last second.

* * *

Alfred slammed open the door to the meeting room, terrified. What was that? It definitely was what England had been talking about, but he hadn't fully believed him until now. Now, it all seemed so very real.  
A few nations were shocked at his sudden entrance, but most were crowded around Italy. He frowned, former panic replaced by confusion, "What's going on?"

Germany grimaced as he attempted to calm down the Italian, "Italy just claimed that his reflection in his glass of water changed. It could've just been his eyes playing tricks on him but..." The disorientation was clear on his face.  
"But it did! The reflection was really scary and had scary eyes and a scary grin and I'm scared!" Italy was panicking.

America nodded, "Well, my reflection just changed, too."  
The wide-eyed nations looked at America as he relay this. His tone was completely serious.  
"I'm phoning England. There's no way this is all happening in our minds," America told them, and in that moment, there was a rare occurrence. The nations all realised that he was absolutely right.

* * *

 **I'm really happy with this chapter, since I realised it was horrible at first and had to rewrite it. Plus, it was really fun to write!**

 **Okay. I just wanted to casually point out to anyone who hadn't noticed that America and Romania refer to their 2p as 'him' and Norway and England refer to their 2p as 'it'. Just an idle remark...**

 **(Oh, and this isn't really late for a change! Companions is still ongoing, I promise. It's just my muse is picky and only wants to work on this story.)**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Panes and Pains and Panes

**Hey Guys!**

 **Merry Christmas!  
Hope you got everything you wanted and you enjoyed yourself and had an awesome time playing in the snow or whatever you Northern Hemisphere weirdos do. I, for one, had an awesome time in my pool. AUSTRALIA FOR THE WIN! (Spiders aren't really that big a deal in Perth, the most dangerous ones can't kill an adult human. Snakes are really venomous- tiger snakes, King Browns, etc. But, if you stay away from them they stay away from you, my sheltered life writing on the computer while other kids are riding in the bush has led me to literally see only one wild snake in my entire life and it was only a dugite and it was at my primary school.)  
**

 **Oh, and I just want to bring to people's attention one of Russia's character songs. It's SEVENTEEN minutes long and is amazing the entire time, please take just 17 minutes of your life to watch it. It's called 'White Flame' and the entire thing, including the translated lyrics is on YouTube.**

 **Thanks to:  
BloodiedCoreOfHope  
For reviewing.**

 **Wow, this was updated fast.  
** **DON'T GET USED TO THIS I WILL RUN OUT OF INSPIRATION I HAVEN'T UPDATED COMPANIONS IN 2 MONTHS THE CLOCK IS TICKING!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 3

Lutz glared at his reflection. He never wore suits. He hated suits. But his stupid brother was making him wear one for the Axis reunion tonight. Of course, the reunion hadn't necessarily been planned. Luciano had just announced it randomly, mostly just to spite the Allies, who were also having theirs tonight. Despite knowing him for a long time, Lutz still never knew what the Italian was thinking. He went from calm and sadistic to loud and sadistic to terrifying and sadistic and pretty much the only thing you could ever count on about him was he was sadistic. It was frightening, watching him use a knife, slitting throats and stabbing into hearts. He liked to kill cleanly and quickly, much unlike Oliver, who enjoyed to hack up a body. Actually, he suspected Oliver was the only one who could compare to Luciano's knife skills. The last time they fought, they had to be pulled apart to avoid tearing each other to pieces.

As he pondered this, something... ...odd occurred. The reflection he was glowering at seemed to... change. Distort. Warp. Instead of his pinkish purple eyes, it adopted bright blue eyes, and the scar that extended down his cheek vanished. His tuxedo was replaced by a casual grey button-up shirt, yet the Iron Cross he always wore still hung around its neck. It seemed to keep his light skin tone. Everything around it was black, and instead of the extension of his shoulders, there was a curve at the bottom of the illusion.  
Lutz took a few steps away from the mirror, eyes wide. What was this? He usually wasn't one to be spooked, but this was different. This was _otherworldly_. He had a secret fear of the supernatural, it did whatever it wanted, it didn't apply to the normal rules of the world. This is why he was wary around nations such as Oliver, who are such at ease with those things, to the point of using them to their advantage. Forbid anyone find out.

The thing looked shocked, as well, but not his his extent. It also had fear in its eyes. Good. This thing wasn't in control. Fear was alright. Fear could be exploited, fear was in every living thing and was the key to gaining what you want. Even if the illusion falls, you can rebuild it. But, when these rules were no longer applicable, when there was nothing that could be taken for granted or predicted, that was when the hunter became the hunted. So, since there was nothing that could be trusted but the basic element of fear, he would cling onto that and exploit it how a drowning man might cling to a piece of flotsam. He put on a confident, cocky smile and tried his best to look certain. As he was about to speak, the fear grew in the thing's eyes and it hurriedly seemed to push away whatever it was looking into. The reflection rippled somehow, like water, and disappeared. Then, there was his ordinary reflection.

His confident expression vanished, and he sunk down onto the floor, confused and frightened. What if it happened again? He could ask Oliver about it, but he wouldn't want to encounter him. He had been told that Norway and Romania were skilled in magic, but they were also two nations he would prefer not to encounter. He was stuck in a trap he hadn't seen until he had walked right into it, and he didn't like it at all.

Even though his brother was mute, he could practically feel Prussia getting annoyed at his lagging.  
He put on a bored expression, it wouldn't be good to appear frightened in front of Luciano, and left the bathroom.

Just a little too quickly.

* * *

Luciano looked into the old polished hand mirror, content on the appearance of his outfit. It really was a tattered old thing, a suit made long ago, and the second tuxedo he had ever owned, and he honestly didn't care for it. But, his other suit had been torn badly after he had gotten into a fight with Oliver (whom he still wanted to duel fairly, without any interrupting nations), and he hadn't thought about the still-damaged tuxedo when he had announced the reunion. He could be calm and strategic, and he often was during the war-time, but acted on impulse occasionally, from the sense of security that he was one of the strongest nations. England, Russia, possibly even America on a good day, were all powerful, but he and his more pleasant, yet still deadly, brother made for a team that could not be beaten, even if they weren't as comfortable around one another.

The two weren't on great terms, because of their wildly different interests. While he loved to slit throats, Flavio would prefer to spend an afternoon sewing and pestering his brother to try out the clothes he designed. Luciano would often reply that the clothes he designed wouldn't look good in a dumpster, much less on him, and this usually resulted in a fight and Flavio getting upset because he didn't like his shirt ripped up and covered in blood from Luciano's skilled knife strokes. Then he would tell Flavio that it was just a stupid shirt and how dumb he was to care about it (though he often used stronger language), and how there must something wrong with his eyes because it looked much better like that. This often resulted in another fight, and, well, I suppose you get the idea.

After his brother had refused to stitch up his old suit (the other one had been too torn and bloody to fix in an afternoon), he had to do it himself. Though he was still skilled with his fingers, he could not compare to Flavio's needlework. Then again, his brother was less skilled in knives, they had their own interests. Maybe needlework was the reason why his brother was more liked. Oh, well. There was nothing to compare to the thrill of ending a pesky human's life, especially if the other activity happened to be embroidery. As he contemplated how pretty one of Flavio's new white lace shirts would look soaked in said brother's blood, he was about to put the mirror down.

Then the unexpected occurred.  
Luciano was always the one controlling, the one manipulating. He knew exactly what everyone was thinking around him, he noticed the tiniest details, the tiniest changes in their personality. He was the mastermind controlling all the puppets, at least in his mind. When a plan is performed, it must be done cleanly and concisely, every detail must be executed flawlessly. If one thing goes wrong, he makes sure to punish whoever was responsible. Because, unless it was another nation or he was just doing it for fun, he preferred not to get his hands dirty. He was, after all, part of the country the mafia came from.  
So, when things got out of hand, when he had no control over of the situation, or even worse, he didn't know what was going on, he got angry or violent. Not, scared though. Being scared was for the weak... Being scared was for the losing side... So he would express his confusion and lack of control by being frustrated and furious and by taking out anger on people who did nothing wrong, well, except trust him.

This was what he felt when his reflection transformed.  
His darker hair turned lighter, but his hair curl was still present, and his open magenta eyes were closed shut. If the reflection had magenta-coloured eyes at all. Instead of his suit, he wore a white shirt adorned with a single yellow dandelion. He had a circle of blackness surrounding him, and the colour also filled the space that should've reflected the background.  
The doppelganger looked confused, but slightly terrified. Fear... Lutz often liked to exploit that emotion. But to him, it wasn't elegant at all. Why should he use such an ugly emotion? Still, he felt that this would not be one of his normal plots. He should use all the advantages as they appeared in front of him, beautiful or not.  
But, it felt wrong as he put on a cocky smirk, eyes shining. He was a good actor, he would say so himself.

The fear in his eyes grew, and he quickly looked away. The apparition ceased, and he saw himself smirking, slightly wickedly, in the mirror, his magenta eyes sparkling with pleasure. His expression grew to proper contentment as he saw how convincing his short, but good, performance was.  
Yes... This fear, it might be fun to use. He usually only exploited trust. Humans had too much of it. As he reinforced it with his act, they were so blinded by it that they didn't know the real him until it was too late.

He placed the mirror carefully down on the table and grinned, properly this time. Maybe, if he played his cards correctly, this wouldn't be so bad, after all...

* * *

Allen stomped up to his house, then tore open the door, rushing in. He clasped his hand over his left shoulder, which was bleeding heavily, and entered the living room to see Matt lounging on his couch. At his entrance, the Canadian glanced up, examined the wound on Allen's shoulder, then glanced back down again.  
As the American went in the direction of his bathroom, Matt told him in a gruff voice, "Medical kit's in your en suite. After all the injuries you get, you'd think you would bother to learn where it was."

Allen grunted in affirmation, and headed towards the little en suite bordering his bedroom, "Why on earth did I put it there?"  
"Something about not wanting visitors to see a bloody mess when they enter the bathroom. You never bother to clean it," Matt replied dryly.  
America ignored him and searched for the bandages. When he gained them, he hastily tore off the sleeve of his shirt and started wrapping them around the fresh wound, "Great. England ruined my shirt."  
Matt heard him and called from the living room, "I take that it didn't go well."  
Allen tried to ignore the sarcasm in his brother's voice, "The bastard didn't even acknowledge what I was saying. He just was doing his stupid magic stuff. I mean, once when I swore he didn't even tell me to put money in that stupid jar."  
"Hmph. I guess that is a little odd..."

"Maybe I should pay him back," Allen grinned.  
Matt rolled his eyes, feeling him grinning even from the living room, "Whenever you 'pay him back', you just end up with worse wounds."  
Allen frowned, "This time will be different."  
"You say that every time."

Allen didn't reply. Instead, he glared into his mirror, pulling the bandage tighter and grimacing as pain flared up his already harrowing shoulder.  
And then, all too quickly, his reflection changed.

* * *

 **If you got confused, I kind of switch between the human and nation names, so you know what universe you're in, but the characters thoughts and dialogue being realistic, since they are referred to by their nation names by fellow nations. If the two worlds meet properly (I will reveal nothing), then I will just call them by their human names.**

 **More encounters!** **P̶s̶s̶t̶ ̶p̶a̶y̶ ̶a̶t̶t̶e̶n̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶e̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶n̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶r̶e̶f̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶a̶l̶t̶e̶r̶n̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶.̶  
Sorry if how the nations meet their alternate selves is kind of cut-and-paste, I don't really know how to do so differently for each character. Hopefully how they react is different enough.**

 **(Sorry if you don't like how I'm portraying the 2ps at the moment just so you know I don't think of them as horrible evil monsters like half of the fandom).  
**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Know Thy Enemy (If We Must)

**Hey Guys!**

 **HAPPY NEW YEAR!  
LET 2016 BE FULL OF CHAPTER UPDATES AND DESPAIRING BECAUSE OF MY FANFICTION! (I'm such a nice person).  
It's 11:00PM right now so it's technically not 2016 yet but it will be by the time I update this.  
I did do a little drabbely New Year's thing that you can see on my profile but it's pretty bad and cheesy so you probably shouldn't bother.**

 **Thanks to:  
Poisonlilie  
theSardonyx  
For reviewing BECAUSE 11 REVIEWS IN 3 CHAPTERS FHKJAHFDJKAHFJK.  
**

 **I'm getting emotional because of the New Year. My (to be attempted) New Year's Resolution is to stop procrastinating and write.  
I need to end this before I cry oh gosh 2016 someone hold me and it better be a country I can't choose which country.  
**

 **Enjoy! (and may your 2016 be full of happiness!)**

* * *

Chapter 4

Even though England acted like it at times, Norway had always really been the leader of the Magic Trio. It was up for debate who had the most magic knowledge, but the other two found that he was easy to depend on. He wasn't sure how. Sometimes, he felt he couldn't even depend on himself to do things right.  
But, despite all of this, he trusted himself to make the right decision so that even if he failed, he would know that he at least could balance conscience and logic. Now, everything was crumbling. This 'alternate reality' was going against so many things he thought true in the past, and he wasn't sure if he was able to make the 'right' choice in this situation. They didn't even know the proper size of the threat.

So it was a little uncharacteristic when he decided to go straight to the G8 meeting without thinking it through. He started to collect some of the more notable books off the carpeted floor, showing clearly they had to get to the meeting as fast as possible. England and Romania, though a little curious at his behaviour, followed his role. Soon, they had as many books as they dare carry, but there was still a disconcerting amount left behind. Norway led them through the doorway and out onto the busy London streets. It was almost noon, and the air was at a comfortable temperature. As England hailed a taxi, Norway continued to ponder this different world. Alternate selves? It all seemed the plot of a bad fantasy novel. Yet here it was, in the real world.

After receiving an odd look from the driver, the three had crammed themselves inside the vehicle and Norway occupied himself by continuing to look through the multitude of books they had brought with them. Most of it was theories and nonsensical attempts to understand different dimensions, so they were having a hard time finding anything of proper use. Almost none of it lined up to the little experience they had on the subject, and the rest was very likely speculation. As he continued to search for anything remotely useful, he noticed something was... ...off. Norway frowned, and asked England and Romania, "Have either of you seen any fairies, spirits or other magical creatures around since you saw the reflection?"

England replied, "...Actually, no I haven't."  
Romania told him likewise.  
"It is very possible this has something to do with our current situation. An apparition in a mirror will not go..." England trailed off.  
He noticed the driver's expression as he overheard their conversation, "Actually, maybe we should save this for when we get there."

The trio mutually agreed, and were left to their fruitless search. After a few more minutes of pointless skimming, they had arrived at the meeting place. Norway noticed the cab driver's face was pale as England paid him, and briskly walked up to the building to keep his mind off it. He honestly wasn't thinking right today. When they entered, they had to walk up a considerable number of stairs to get to the meeting place. When they got to the top, they had to take a small rest from the multitude of heavy books they were transporting. They spent a little too long there, anxious of what would happen when they entered the room, then braced themselves and opened the door.

There was a gloomy air within the room. Dread and apprehension echoed within the painted walls, and the occupants of the room looked over to the trio who had just entered. Germany nodded toward the center of the cleared-off table, and they dumped the books onto it.  
"I need Italy and America to explain their encounters in detail," England immediately explained.  
"Well, I guess I have to, as well. While you were travelling here, I saw something in the mirror, too," Germany remarked.

England almost growled in frustration as he heard this. This was all getting out of hand too quickly. Something needed to be done.  
"Firstly, I really think you should explain what is going on," France said, and everyone else mutually agreed.  
Romania sighed, "Well, that's the thing. We don't really know ourselves. The only conclusion we can come to, with our limited resources, is that there is a parallel dimension with alternate versions of ourselves. The true nature of them we don't know, except I think that they perfectly harmless..."  
He shot a pointed look at Norway, and the Nordic completely ignored him.

"We also think that my alternate self destroyed all the teacups in my house... Well, except for the one I was holding. That one broke after Norway surprised me with a phone call. So we believe that they can use magic, as well," England finished. He sighed, then started to pace.  
As the nations pondered this, America asked, "Don't you have any way to look into the alternate dimension?"  
Norway replied, "No. Unless you count looking through reflective surfaces, and we've already ruled that as too dangerous."  
He gave an unreadable expression to Romania, whose visage stiffened.

England's eyes widened, then he asked Norway, "I have a theory. What if we use a seeing spell, but instead of preventing the spell from hopping to somewhere outside of this world, we instead focus it on the potential other world?"

Norway seemed to think for a moment, "Yes... You're right. That could work."  
He glanced over at Romania, who nodded, all three agreeing the theory was possible.  
"Then we're going to have to work as quickly as possible. If the fracture has enough negative energy to repel magical creatures, then it is extreme. It could be a very significant threat if we don't fix it fast enough. Also, using magic to see into another world will significantly worsen the fracture, so this better be worth it," England's tone was grim.

"Alright, then! What can we do to help?" America asked, attempting to stay optimistic.  
Norway glared at him, "Stay out of our way and don't be annoying. Coming here wasted precious time."  
He turned his back on them, then started to consult England and Romania how they should reword the spell so the apparition would be in from different world. The rest sat in a grim (and still dreading) atmosphere, waiting for them to finish. America was more than a little insulted they couldn't help, but the rest were somewhat fine with it.

The trio seemed to come to a conclusion, and turned back to the others.  
"Okay, we have the right wording for the spell, but we need the DNA of the person we want to see, or rather whose counterpart we want to see. We shouldn't use one of ours, because the alternate trio might notice being spied on," Romania explained, "We shouldn't see someone close to them, either."

"Who should we see, then?" France questioned.  
England's frown grew, "I'd say the alternate Axis? I can't see them hanging around any of our counterparts."  
Germany sighed, "Fine, then. You can use mine."  
He plucked a hair from his head and put it on the table. He was honestly a bit skeptical about all this.

The magic trio prepared for a little longer, than started to chant.

* * *

Luciano, Lutz and Kuro were at a somewhat fancy restaurant, currently having their dinner.

It was silent. Mostly because Lutz and Luciano were contemplating the apparition they had seen before, and Kuro was too refined to break the silence. Inside, he observed the two with great interest. It was not often they were so quiet, and they seemed to be in a different world entirely.  
Finally, he decided to break the pregnant silence, if only to discover why they were acting so odd, "You held this reunion to spite the Allies, right Italy?"

Luciano looked up from the not-so-fantastic meal, grinning, "If you didn't know that, Japan, you don't know me at all."  
Kuro replied, "Well, I heard that England wasn't even going to Allies reunion."  
"From whom?" Luciano asked, suspicious.  
"...China," Kuro admitted after a pause.

Lutz, who had been mostly disinterested in the conversation, raised an eyebrow, "Are you serious? You're getting gossip from China?"  
Kuro frowned, "You're being judgmental. Anyway, don't you find it curious?"  
The two only found it worrying, since Oliver was an expert in magic, and therefore twisted reflections. But, Luciano told him, "He's probably making more cupcakes. Like anyone is going to eat them. Poisons aren't all that appetizing."

There was something about his tone of voice. Kuro dared to comment, "...You two are acting unusual."  
Luciano's eyes flashed, and he took the steak knife he was using, then pressed it up against his neck. Kuro paled, and knew he made the wrong decision. His hand drifted to the katana he had barely been allowed to bring inside, hanging by his waist. He didn't want to fight Italy, he would probably win, and they would never be allowed back in this restaurant. Well, it wasn't very good food, anyway.

Luciano noticed the motion, and pressed the blade into Kuro's neck. A trickle of red started to drip down his pale skin.  
He asked in a sing-songy voice, "What was that, Japan? I couldn't hear you~!"  
Kuro gritted his teeth, then retracted his arm and rested it on the table, "...Nothing."  
"That's a good boy," Luciano's eyes sparkled sadistically, and pulled the knife back, wiping the blood off with a napkin. Japan seethed, and glared at Italy. His face was content, and he was humming a little song happily. Oh, how he wished he could defeat him.

As Kuro finished his meal, he wiped the blood off, around the place his wound had been. It was lucky they didn't permanently scar from trivial things.  
Lutz looked on with disinterest. Clearly, Japan was eager to know what was happening. But, Italy's terrifying demeanor would make that information more difficult to obtain. He just hoped Japan didn't decide to ask him, instead.

* * *

Arthur stumbled as he finished the spell. Norway looked on in slight worry, "That spell was simple. It shouldn't have phased you."  
"Yes, I know. For some reason, my magic was already depleted before this. I didn't notice until now, so I don't know how it happened," England replied.

The rest of them were taking in what they had just witnessed.  
"Ve~! That other me was scary!" Italy exclaimed. They all mutually agreed with him. He was certainly much different from their own Italian.  
Norway concluded, "So, it does seem that these 'alternate selves' have less pleasant characteristics. Even if you count out Italy's threatening behavior, I certainly would want to know this England who apparently puts poison in it's cupcakes."

Romania seemed uncomfortable, but said nothing.  
"Alright, then. What next?" England asked.

And then it all went downhill.

* * *

 **OH GOSH I HAD SO MUCH WRITERS BLOCK WHILE WRITING THIS.**

 **ARGHHHHH THIS WILL BE UPLOADED LATE.  
NOTHING IS LATE IF YOU DON'T HAVE AN UPLOADING SCHEDULE.  
I'M STILL REALLY SORRY.**

 **I'm afraid that this chapter might be OOC... ;-; We're not having enough Romania. He'll have a bigger part soon, promise.  
**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Snowflakes and Dandelions

**Hey Guys!**

 **Okay, since 1p Romania doesn't have a human name, I used 'Vladimir', since it's pretty much the most used one in the fanbase.**

 **My reviews are being weird and I can only read them in my emails and can't reply to them, so until this stupid thing is fixed, I'm going to have to reply to them here... Sorry! If you didn't review, you can skip this part.**

 **Poisonlilie: Sorry to hear about your arm! Was this updated soon enough?  
Ariaprincess: Thank you! I'm planning a lot more with 2p Italy *evil laughter*.  
Lovesbugsalot: ...Okay? Just one word? That's fine.  
theSardonyx: Yeah... My other story hadn't been updated in so long, I'm pretty certain half the people reading it think it's discontinued. And the cliffhanger will be explained below!  
BloodiedCoreOfHope: No! I'm not! They are not just evil versions of them! They have feelings and are not completely evil!**

 **According to my reviews, I have one more but it's not in my emails. So if you happened to review and it didn't show up here, I'm sorry.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 5

Darkness.  
There was only darkness.

It suffocated him. It surrounded him. He couldn't move and couldn't breathe and couldn't properly think. He couldn't even surrender to the overwhelming black which was making him burn with pain, every inch pressing into him and tightening it's grasp. He was being constricted, and was blind to everything around him.

Vladimir hated the dark. It was ironic, considering he was always associated with vampires and darkness and billowing black cloaks and other not-so-nice things. If anyone found out, he would say that it was because it was a bland colour and stereotypes and other excuses. But it stemmed from a long, long time ago. He hated to remember it. It-

Suddenly, the darkness was subdued. It turned to a grey, then a blinding white. It was spotless, clean, and it burned his irises. The constriction was worse then ever, and somehow he managed to get out a hoarse scream.  
Then he was falling.

* * *

Alfred let out a pained groan.

Where was he? He remembered this weird darkness that hurt a lot then this greyness and then finally this whiteness that hurt even more. He attempted to move his arm, and it crunched the snow beneath him.  
Wait. Snow?

The American blinked a few times, then his sight cleared. He saw the sky above him, cloudless and bright blue, then (painfully) sat up, grimacing. He saw snow everywhere, over hills and into the horizon. He was extremely cold, too. He shivered, jacket doing nothing to block out the frigid air and freezing snow. He got on his hands and knees, then somehow stood up, stumbling a bit.

His glanced over the wasteland he had landed in, and tried to remember what had happened. They had looked into this other dimension thing, where Italy was somehow scary, and then they had talked about it and then England had asked what would happen next and then...  
It had been like the entire world had warped. It been pulled apart with expert fingers, and everything around him had crumbled. Then it was the blackness and greyness and whiteness and then somehow he was falling and then this snowy plain. The timeline he had created in his head, while accurate, made no sense at all. Then he remembered the other nations. What had happened to them? Had they come with him? Or was he... ...alone?

The last thought was unpleasant, and he set himself to search for his fellow nations, or otherwise die of hypothermia. Whichever came first. He started to trek around, trying to preserve his body heat as much as possible. He pulled the thin jacket close to his skin in an attempt to stop the shivering. It did not. His breath came out in little puffs of white, and his footsteps crunched into the thick snow, making it hard to maneuver around. At one point, he wondered if was going in the opposite direction of the other nations. The thought slightly amused him, and at this point he noticed he wasn't shivering anymore. That was good... ...right? No, he thought he had read somewhere that it was a sign of moderate hypothermia. Not good. Parts of his exposed skin started to feel extremely cold, and turned pale. Frostbite, wasn't it? That wasn't good, either.

He started to feel confused and drowsy, he couldn't think straight and his steps were turning into stumbles. Eventually, he tripped over his own feet and found himself surrounded by snow on the ground. The former cold was like a warm blanket, and he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Feliciano shivered in the immense cold, cuddling Ludwig in an attempt to keep warm. The nation accepted it, knowing it would be intelligent to preserve body heat in the snowy wasteland they had landed in. Kiku stood over to the side, with all his personal space, but knew eventually he would have to admit defeat in an effort to keep warm.

The trio had all experienced the same thing, the warping of the world, the painful blackness and greyness and whiteness, and then the fall into the snow. Luckily, they had landed close together and had found each other in no time. Now they were contemplating what to do next, whether to search for their fellow nations or stay put to keep warm. In Ludwig's mind, the former was winning, so he decided to say, "We should look for the others. They... They might be alone."  
The sound of his voice shocked him, it was much more ragged and slurred than usual. He immediately thought of hypothermia, and grimaced.

Kiku and Feliciano could only nod, and they set off together. After a while, Ludwig noticed Kiku was in a much worse state then himself and Feliciano, and embraced him to keep the three warm. In a rare occasion, the smaller man didn't object at all. Probably because they were freezing to death. Ludwig noticed the dandelion that was attached to Feliciano's shirt was wilting rapidly. He was upset at this, for a reason he did not know. He also noticed more symptoms of hypothermia, and also frostbite. They couldn't survive out here much longer.

Eventually, they saw a figure among all the snow. It was standing upright, with it's back turned to them. They couldn't make out who it was.  
"H-Hello?" Ludwig called as loud as he could.

The figure turned, and they saw it was Arthur. There was relief etched on his face, "Germany?"  
Ludwig nodded, which was slightly painful, "Yeah. I have Italy and Japan with me."

Arthur stumbled up to them, and the trio walked towards him. As they reached each other, Ludwig saw the horrid state he was in. He was a pale shade of blue, and had clear signs of frostbite around his face and hands. At least he was shivering, showing that he didn't have bad hypothermia.  
The Brit grinned without humour, "Y-You look horrible."  
"So... So do you," Germany smiled grimly.

Arthur frowned, "Have you s-seen anyone else? ...Especially Norway and R-Romania."  
Ludwig shook his head, "Do you have any idea what happened?"  
"N-No. We-we aren't in the other dimension, but we're not in our old one either. It s-seems to be some sort of dimensional middle ground," Arthur explained, teeth chattering.

"How can you tell?" asked Ludwig.  
Confusion rippled across his face, "It's hard t-to explain. Just think of i-it this way, each di-dimension has a wavelength. Those with t-the magic touch can feel it all the time, and through that seeing s-spell I could feel the other dimension's wavelength. T-This dimension has neither wavelength."

"...Alright," Ludwig replied. He held out his arms, offering Arthur their embrace, and after a moment's hesitation, he accepted. He needed to keep his body warmth up.

After a little more pointless wandering, in which Ludwig noticed with dismay they all seemed to be getting symptoms of advanced frostbite and hypothermia, they saw a building on the horizon. It was a little log cabin, with a warm glow coming from inside and a nice, homely feel.  
Ludwig squinted, "Is that a log cabin?"  
"Yes, I think it is," Arthur replied.

They wasted no time, striding (and stumbling) up the hill it was situated on. As they got closer, they could basically feel the warmth seeping from it, and quickened their already brisk pace. Finally, while very drowsy and cold, they reached the front door. With frostbitten fingers, Ludwig knocked as hard as he could. After a small amount of time, in which they heard a little commotion inside, the door opened. The heat from the fireplace washed over the group, and they felt a slight relief. Then they noticed who had opened the door. It was Francis.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at the four nations, then widened the door and moved aside, letting them in. They barely got inside before they all collapsed. In the home, they noticed a few things. They had fallen on a brightly coloured rug, which was in front of the blazing fireplace in the sitting room. Across from them was a kitchen, and a hall stretched down to who-knows-where on their left. They also noticed the inhabitants, Francis, who was currently closing the door, Ivan, who was leaning on the kitchen counter top with a mug in his hand, and Matthew, sipping hot chocolate on the comfortable-looking couch across from the fire.  
"You four look horrible," commented Francis as he walked back from the tightly shut door, sitting down on the couch and picking up an unattended mug on a side table.  
He started to sip it, the other nations separating from each other, though Feliciano still clung tightly to Ludwig, and moving closer to the warm fire.

A minute had passed before Arthur managed to speak, "H-How did you get here?"  
Francis shrugged, "The same as you, I'm assuming. The world warped, there was black, grey and white, then we were falling and ended up in the snow. I just suppose we found this place before you."

The nations, with their abilities, had already started to heal, and were feeling much better. Arthur had started to look at the mugs in the nations hands, longing for a hot drink.  
Ivan noticed him, "Would you like some hot chocolate? We don't have tea, but..."  
The four affirmed this, and he started to make more of the drink.

As he received his mug, Ludwig wondered what on earth was happening. Then again, they weren't in their own world anymore.

* * *

It was a little while later, after the nations had moved off the floor for the now crowded couch, when they heard another knock at the door.  
Arthur went to answer it, and three very frostbitten nations with hypothermia waited on the other side. Lukas, Vladimir and a very unconscious Alfred (carried by Vladimir) stumbled in, and didn't make it to the rug before they collapsed. Francis took one glance at the three half-dead nations and went down the hallway. Thirty seconds later, he emerged with three very warm-looking blankets.

They had crawled (and been dragged) towards the fireplace, and the two conscious nations had collapsed on their backs. They were all horrible condition, and Vladimir and Lukas had already started to black out. They dozed off, and the seven aware nations looked on in worry. Francis wrapped the blankets around them, and returned to his spot on the couch quietly.

"Where did you get the blankets?" Ludwig inquired.  
Francis nodded towards the hallway, "There are bedrooms up there. Just enough beds for all of us... Don't you find it curious?"  
"This whole situation is curious," snorted Arthur.

Kiku frowned, "If there are beds, shouldn't we put the unconscious nations on them?"  
"Oh, er. Right," Francis replied.

They moved the three nations into one of the two bedrooms, each with 5 single beds, and returned to the sitting room. They were all pretty much recovered, it helped to be a nation. Ivan had happily placed three mugs of hot chocolate on one of the dressers in that room. Apparently Francis had explored earlier, and the clothes and nightwear fit, and were very comfortable, at that. There was enough food, water and hot chocolate to last them all at least two weeks. It all seemed to be a very detailed set-up, obviously planned for a long time.

Feliciano had noticed happily that there was a blooming flowerpot full of yellow dandelions, and replaced the old, wilting one that had been exposed to the freezing cold.

It was about ten minutes later that a very dreary Lukas emerged from the hallway, holding a lukewarm cup of hot chocolate. He sat in front of the fire and drank it without complaint, and only after Vladimir had joined him and they had both drained their cups did anyone say anything.  
"Is anyone aware of where we are or how we got here?" Lukas asked. His answer was everyone shaking their heads, and he grimaced.

"We should wait until America is awake when we start talking about this. Was he still unconscious when you left?" England queried.  
Romania nodded, and there was a lingering sense of unease, much like at the meeting place.

Despite the circumstances, it didn't seem to be the worst part of this unfolding tale.

* * *

 **Romania's fear of darkness will be explained later in the story.**

 **Sorry if the frostbite and hypothermia weren't accurate. It shouldn't have a huge effect on the narrative. I would appreciate it if you could correct it for me.  
I feel this might be a bit rushed... I wrote it in one day.**

 **Wow. This was updated so quickly. I suppose I felt a little guilty for the cliffhanger.  
So how are our lovable (and one unconscious) heroes in a winter wasteland? What mysteries will be solved? What new intrigues be discovered? Find out on the next episode of Shattered Reflections!**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. A Face Much Un-Like My Own

**Hey Guys!**

 **Eughh this is kinda late. Well, at least this isn't like Companions. Those poor readers get an update every two months.  
** **Loki is 2p Norway, Vasile is 2p Romania and Santiago is 2p Spain. Mostly because they're the most popular names. I'm not very creative with names. Also, 2p Seborga hasn't been given a name... ...yet.  
**

 **Oh, and reviews are fixed (for the most part)! :3  
Thanks to:  
The Forgotten Traveller  
For reviewing!**

 **Okay random story time because I basically have no friends to share it with:  
** **I'm pretty difficult to buy presents for, so after Christmas I wasn't so surprised when half of what I got was book vouchers and money. So, the first time I went down to the book store I got 5 awesome books (with my sister paying half for one of them because she wanted it too). I'm currently only on the third, getting distracted by fanfiction and writing and anime and Youtube and Tumblr. So, you know what I decided to do? Spend the rest of my money on more books! Not a dollar on anything else, well, except 6 dollars on Quavers and some Wine Gums because British candy is really expensive in Australia. Anyway, I also have a really heavy reading book series on my shelves called the 'Obernewtyn Chronicles' (really good btw go read it) which I read the first 3 books and half, but got distracted and stopped reading, and now I have to read them all over again because, as I said, they're really heavy reading.**

 **Moral of random story: Don't buy a lot of books and forget to read them.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 6

Oliver, Loki and Vasile had never been on good terms, despite all of them being skilled in magic. They were just too different. Even though Oliver and Loki seemed to have a similar 'yandere personality' (discretely pointed out by Kuro), there wasn't much else that they had in common. Sometimes, they would argue about who had the better magic, often ending with a magical fight that would, well, never end in a truce.

But even they had to acknowledge their lack of information on this 'parallel dimension'.

The Brit got even more disgruntled as nothing he found was relevant to his current situation, and as much as he was taking on this problem with a playful demeanor, he knew that this could become much more serious if it wasn't solved quickly. And as much as he hated to admit it, his magical knowledge could be... ...broader, in some ways. He still felt annoyed as he clicked the barely used contact labelled 'Count Dracula', the nickname that was commonly used to anger the usually very calm Vasile. He hated the stereotype often associated with him, and therefore Oliver would call the nation the name as often as possible.

Vasile replied almost immediately, "Look who doesn't have enough magic knowledge to solve this on his own."  
"You don't either, Count Dracula. This problem is like nothing we've ever faced~!" Oliver's voice was much more grave than usual, but he kept his general chirpiness.  
The Romanian ignored the nickname, snorting, "I think I know that. Anyway, we should contact Norway and meet up. As much as we might hate to admit it, this can't be solved alone."  
"Okay, Dracula~! We'll meet up at my house. You should bring some books on magic, as well," Oliver instructed, then promptly hung up.

He looked down at the useless book resting in his lap and snarled, in a very rare moment losing his temper, and shoved it off. The Brit sighed, looking around the mess of books and papers surrounding him, wondering if this really was a major problem, and if so, how many lives would be changed in its wake.

* * *

Flavio heard the door slam open, and despite knowing who it was, looked up to see Luciano. He was scowling, eyeing the room with distaste, then glaring at his brother, who had draped himself over the couch and was lazily watching him.  
"Ah, mio fratello has returned. How was the dinner~?" Flavio asked.  
"Shut up," Luciano growled, and the other man raised an eyebrow. It had obviously gone not-so-well, otherwise he wouldn't be dealing with a disgruntled brother.

Flavio glanced at the kitchen, where various sharp objects were held, and wondered if he could get there before Luciano pulled out his throwing knives. Probably not. He should just try to avoid a fight, at least for now.  
He decided to change the topic, at least for the moment, "I heard from China that England didn't even go to the reunion. And then America and Canada randomly cancelled, as well. Don't you find that a little odd?"

This only seemed to put Luciano more on edge, "Japan told me about England, but not America and Canada."  
"You didn't even make any snide remarks. Fratello, you are acting odd," Flavio made his words slow and deliberate, eager for the answer but unwilling to fight Luciano.  
Unfortunately, Luciano growled and reached into his coat, which he had hidden some knives in case such a situation arose. Flavio held his hands up, as if he was surrendering, and told him, "I'm not in the mood to fight."

"Fine then, idiota," his brother stomped towards his room, then slammed the door as furiously as he could. Well, probably not. If that was the case, it would splintered or with even worse damage. Flavio smirked slightly as he heard his brother delve into a string of Italian curses.  
The brothers were currently living together, a not very intelligent set-up. Their current living situation had arose when Japan had stated, after one of their numerous fights, that it would be impossible for them to live with each other for a week. Then, China had dared them to do it for 6 months, and since the two weren't ones to back down from a challenge, they had accepted. Somewhere along the extremely short planning stage, Seborga had, for reasons unknown, managed to join in, and here they were.

Luciano was basically impossible to share a house with, he had violent tendencies and they would often fight. Seborga would usually keep to himself, but always kept a cold, unforgiving air, and though he wasn't as strong as either as his brothers, wouldn't hesitate to join in a fight if someone had really angered him. Flavio was pretty much always cheery, a trait that had even begun to irritate Seborga, but could get very serious at times.  
Seborga was out with other micronations at the moment (Flavio had been happy when he noticed that Seborga had begun to make more friends, while Luciano hadn't particularly cared), so it was just him and a moody, violent Luciano.  
He decided to call Santiago and tell him about his brother's curious behaviour. He went to close the still wide open door, but paused when he looked into his reflection in the chrome doorknob.

Instead of his blonde hair, he had dark brown locks, and his normally fuchsia eyes were gone, replaced by light brown ones. Instead of his usually cheery complex, he wore a slight scowl, and his white designer suit and pink scarf was replaced by a red button-up shirt. Everything surrounding him was black.  
His eyes widened, and the reflection looked confused as well. What was this?  
"Uh... Hello?" Flavio said cautiously.  
The reflection's scowled even more, "What are you?"  
His tone was furious, as if Flavio had somehow committed a personal offence. His glare burned into Flavio.

"I'm South Italy, Italy Romano!" the blonde blurted out, very slightly spooked by the twisted reflection.  
The reflection's glare somehow grew even more angry, and he seemed to be seething, "I'm South Italy. I'm Italy Romano. Not you stupid blonde reflection."  
Flavio's fear was replaced by more confusion, "Wait, I'm the reflection? You're the reflection, here. And I am South Italy."  
His brow was furrowed with the same emotion, "Hmph. You are the reflection. And since we _happen_ to be the same person, call me Lovino. That's my human name."

"I'm Flavio, at least that's my human name. How can we both be the reflection?" Flavio asked.  
Lovino seemed enraged at this, "How am I supposed to know?! That stupid England bastard does all the magic."  
Flavio frowned, "Wait. England? So... Is it possible this is a case of parallel dimensions?"  
The brunette seemed to be in thought, "That sounds like the plot of a bad sci-fi film."

Just as Flavio was about to answer, Lovino disappeared, and he was suddenly looking at his own reflection. What? He looked intently at it, as if he could coax the apparition out again.  
"Why are you staring at that doorknob?"  
Flavio whipped his head up to see Seborga giving him an odd look.

"...No particular reason," he answered, as if he hadn't just looked into a possible parallel dimension.  
Seborga raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. He entered the house calmly. And Flavio couldn't help feeling ever so slightly scared as the door quietly clicked shut.

* * *

Allen stood in shock, the hand he had been using to bandage his shoulder hanging by his side. What had just happened? He had sworn he hadn't seen his reflection- it had blue eyes and blonde hair and didn't follow his movements.  
He stared into the mirror accusingly, waiting for something to happen, for it to appear again. Had it just been his imagination? No... It had been so... ...real. So alive, and so very there. It couldn't just be a trick of the mind, or some prank played by another nation.

The American pulled his bandage as tight as he could, gritting his teeth, watching the blood drip down as he tried to forget that moment. He finished wrapping it around, and knew that a wound this bad would take at least half an hour to heal. He sighed, going into the living room and sitting on the couch next to Matt, not even bothering to wash his bloody hands. The Canadian looked on in curiousity, and slight amusement, "You look pale."

"Well that would happen when I was just stabbed in the shoulder!" Allen growled.  
Matt snorted, "By that, I mean paler then you usually do after you provoke England. You didn't even bother to wash your hands."  
"...It's nothing," Allen muttered.

Matt was silent for a moment, then asked, "Did you see another person in the mirror?"  
Allen's head whipped around, "Yes! ...How did you know?"  
"Because it happened to me, as well."

Allen knew it was the truth, mostly because his brother was acting much more silent and apprehensive then usual.  
America suddenly achieved a huge grin on his face, and told Matt, "I bet that England has something to do with this, he was doing magic when I visited, remember? I'm going to go back to his house and mess with him."  
Canada rolled his eyes, "I just told you that you'll get a worse injury if you mess with him again. Besides, what about that Allies reunion?"

"You can help me! Besides, if England isn't going, then it's acceptable for me to miss out, as well," Allen plotted. Matt eyed him with an odd expression.  
He sighed, then replied, "Fine, then. You better have a plan, America."

* * *

 **NOO! THIS ONE IS SO SHORT! AND IT'S PRETTY BAD, TOO! I'M SORRY!**

 **At least I fit in some plot points.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Assumptions and Revelations

**Hey Guys!**

 **Sorry this is kinda late. I've recently become addicted to Cardverse, and at some point you can definitely expect a story like that.  
Also, I was kinda procrastinating because this chapter was REALLY hard to write. Seriously. But, do not worry! I have been gluing bits onto the 2ps and the plot and stuff in my spare time. In this, I realise I will need 54 chapters and a possible epilogue...  
Also, in this character contemplating, I kinda got an idea and went back to edit a chapter to make Prussia mute... XD Sorry for the inconvenience, but the story will be better because of the little things I change.**

 **Thanks to:  
Breathing in Poison  
For reviewing.**

 **Anyway, more plot and all that jazz. Warning: Major plot developments ahead.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 7

The first thing Alfred noticed as he woke up was he was cold. Extremely cold, his body was stiff and freezing but seemed to be getting warmer rapidly. He was in a snug bed, still wearing the clothes and jacket that had been exposed to the frigid air, with his glasses neatly placed on a side table. There were other beds in the somewhat spacey room, along other pieces of furniture and a closed door across from where he had awoken, blurry in his unclear vision.  
The American sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and retrieved his glasses with sore, jerking movements. With the eye wear, he could see that there were 5 beds in the room, including his, and various other furnishings. Bleary-eyed, he noted the mug placed on a nearby dresser, and winced as he painfully slid out of the bed, and immediately regretted it.

He stumbled over to the dresser, picking up the mug, which he confirmed to hold (cool) hot chocolate. As he properly woke up, he heard the screeching wind of an apparent blizzard outside, and if he strained his ears, a crackling of a fireplace and hushed voices nearby. He looked over to a small window with a glowing lantern on its sill, and saw only white, the ground, the sky, the snowdrops dancing in the violent gust. Where was he? He remembered an odd warping of everything around him, then this blackness, greyness and whiteness that unfortunately hurt a lot, then stumbling around in a snowy wasteland. Then... ...he had fallen unconscious? He was pretty sure at some point he had woke briefly, to being carried by someone and voices that he couldn't quite understand, but it was all hazy and might have been a dream.

The warmth was slowly returning to him, one of the perks of being basically immortal- fast healing, so he decided to investigate the fire and the voices. Were they his fellow nations? ...Or were they something or someone more sinister?  
These thoughts were quickly expelled from his mind after he opened the well-oiled door and walked down a short hallway. He found himself in a fairly large room, a cheery rug by a blazing fireplace, a comfy-looking couch, and a kitchen area across from it. It was currently occupied with the rest of the G8, as well as Norway and Romania (sitting on the rug instead of the crowded couch). A wooden door was tightly shut, supposedly leading to the raging blizzard outside.

Arthur was first to notice his sudden appearance, "Ah. You're finally awake."  
Now the other nations were fully aware of this fact.  
"Uh... Where are we?" he asked hesitantly.  
"No-one knows. I assume you experienced the same thing as us? The black, grey and white?" Vladimir questioned.  
"Yeah," Alfred answered, quite stupidly.

Instead of lingering by the hallway, he sat himself on the rug, as close to the fire as possible without getting burnt. Warmth flooded him, and he suddenly felt much better. He looked out the window and noticed the blizzard seemed to be getting even worse.  
Ivan frowned at the now ice-cold mug of hot chocolate in the American's hands, and went off to the kitchen, procuring the cup from Alfred's somewhat frozen fingers. Only when he had received the warm mug and he had recovered from the cold did they begin to talk.

"Now that we're all awake, we should begin talking. Though whoever set this whole thing up has seemed to be generous with the supplies they've given us, we still only have, at the most, two and a half weeks before we run out," Arthur explained.  
"One of the most obvious assumptions is that our alternate selves did this," Lukas commented. The rest of the company seemed to let the Magic Trio talk, since they were still getting accustomed to the whole 'magic exists and has just stranded us in the middle of an icy wasteland' thing.

Vladimir pouted, "You're going to pin this whole thing on them?"  
"Well it did happen right after they showed up in our reflective surfaces. I think they might be at least _partially_ to blame," Arthur replied.  
Lukas added, "They're a start, at least. We should at least investigate them before we go off exploring more outdated and irrelevant books."  
The Romanian looked displeased, but said nothing.

"How are we going to get more information about them, anyway? The seeing spell can only go so far..." Arthur's eyes clouded over as he seemed to contemplate something. There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"Does... Does anyone else feel that...?" he half-whispered.  
Vladimir frowned, "...Feel what?"  
Lukas seemed to be deep in thought as well, "I-I can't feel them. I can't feel the people of my country..."

Alarmed expressions crossed the other nation's faces, and they tried, too.  
Nations have an interesting ability- they can feel, per say, their people. It's a hard power to explain, they are just always there, tugging on their consciousness, and the nations could certainly observe the aspects of their everyday lives if they wished. But, now, they were just... ...not there, as if they had been ripped from the nation's mind. It was a disconcerting and somewhat terrifying sensation for those who have taken it for granted their entire lives.

"I can't feel them!" exclaimed Alfred. Other (slightly scared) announcements came from the others, and soon the room was in turmoil.

"Shut up!" Arthur growled over the cacophony. They all quietened down (they wouldn't follow England in a normal situation, but they seemed to be in a perfectly arranged scheme, like flies in a web, and that feeling never ceased. It was suddenly like, in the confused nation's heads, the only ones who knew the slightest bit about magic also seemed to be the most suited to a leadership position at the time), but the terrified atmosphere stayed like an overbearing fog.

The Brit continued, "Whatever is going on right now will not be solved by panicking! We need to keep a level head so we know why it's happening, and how to escape it."  
The others mutually agreed, but the hint of fear in Arthur's voice had not calmed them in the slightest.

"O-Our healing is still working, so we're still nations... ...right?" the uncertainty was clear in Vladimir's voice.  
Lukas gritted his teeth, "They are many creatures with fast healing other than us... Besides, magic has been known to do strange things..."

The silence that overtook the room seemed to be filled with tension, but rather tension they could explain. Discomfort they understood. Despite the circumstances, it was much more welcomed than the tension in the meeting room earlier that day. Even that seemed days ago, from all that had occurred.

Soon, Alfred asked the question that had long been on everyone's minds, even though he thought he knew that answer, "...Does this mean we can die?"

Arthur's troubled expression grew worse, "I don't know. I-I don't know..."

* * *

After a bland dinner of bread, cheese and water (they had forgotten about lunch, mostly because of their lengthy and not-so-wonderful conversation), they all went to bed without another word. They split into their respective rooms, which had quite clearly been assigned by the clothes in the dressers.

As Arthur attempted to drift off, he couldn't help wonder. What was happening? Why were they part of it? ...And why does he still have that odd feeling that the worst is still yet to come?

The blizzard kept on getting worse and worse, and he eventually fell asleep with sound of howling in his ears.

* * *

The morning brought a new day, and a new perspective on things, a fact Arthur was happy about.

Now that he thought of it, the first time had encountered his alternate self, he looked surprised and confused at first. And it seemed genuine, not just an act or ploy put up to fool him. Maybe... Maybe they were in the same boat.

He had to think. It was early, his internal clock guessed about 3 or 4am. So he decided to go into the living room to think. As he passed by a window, the blizzard was still raging on, and the fireplace was still crackling even through the night. He'd heard of blizzards that had lasted for weeks (not in his own country, of course) so maybe that wasn't too rare, but other aspects irritated him.

He sighed and sat down on the couch, thoughts whirling like the snowstorm outside. Lukas was still strongly against the idea of communicating with their alternate selves, but he felt himself slowly being won over by Vladimir's argument. It would be brash, risky and consequential to talk to the other selves, but what other choice did they have? It was inevitable that they would eventually run out of food and fresh water, and the storm showed no signs of abating. If anything, it was getting worse.

He thought of making tea to calm his thoughts, but then he remembered there was none. He sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to think of what to do next.

Then, on a whim, he decided to go look in a bathroom mirror. It wasn't like he had any other choice.

* * *

Vladimir woke up, and immediately knew that something was wrong. Something was... ...different.

From an instinct he couldn't explain, he set forth towards the bathroom.

* * *

 **Oh dear. This is too short. Well, nevermind. This is all that I could put in before it started to go into the next one.**

 **There's currently a poll on my profile- and I'd like you guys to vote in it. It's about which Hetalia story I should write as a side project. Trust me, I'll still be writing this one, but I prefer to write two stories at once so if I can't think of anything for one of them, I can work on the other.**

 **((Oh, and 7 chapters is the furthest I've gone on a fanfiction before giving up or putting it on hiatus! Not a big achievement, I know. But I _will_ finish this story if it's the last thing I do.))**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	8. Surface Tension and Core Calamity

**Hey Guys!**

 **Oh, dear. I am currently dying from the heat.  
Stupid Australian summer...**

 **I SHOULD BE SWIMMING. BUT, NOOOOO! I FELT GUILTY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER AND NEEDED TO WRITE.**

 ***muffled sobs***

 **Remember, if you still haven't voted for the next story I'm going to work on while not on this one, do so now! I promise you won't regret it. It only takes 5 seconds. The poll is on my profile right now, and is still open!**

 **((side note: It's Australia day while I'm writing this! Spending it shut in writing fanfiction instead of celebrating, oh dear...))**

 **If you hadn't noticed, my chapter names often have dual meanings, and this one is no exception...**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 8

Arthur saw his reflection change in the bathroom mirror, and immediately regretted his choice as it said the first words.

"Hello, there, Arthur. I thought you would never come," Oliver smirked.  
"Look, I'm trying to prove you're not evil right now. It doesn't really help that you're acting like a stereotypical _Disney_ villain," Arthur groaned.

Oliver frowned, feigning offence, "You think we're evil? How very biased of you!"  
"Well, when we last checked in on your world, Italy was holding a knife to Japan's neck. Oh, and he mentioned something about poisoned cupcakes...?" Arthur trailed off.  
The image on the the other side of the mirror seemed to actually be insulted now, "Hey! I don't poison all of them! Sometimes they're actually very nice."

"Right... Okay, since you haven't attempted to kill me so far, I'll assume that you don't have complete control. Do you know anything about our current situation?" Arthur asked, impatient.  
Oliver tilted it's head, "You mean the reflections? Nuh-uh. It sorta just... ...happened. I even have Norway and Romania with me to work on this~!"  
Arthur's expression changed to one of confusion, "So... You have no idea what's happening on this side right now?"  
"I have no idea what's happening on your side right now... Wait! What's happening on your side right now~? I want to know what's happening on your side right now~!" Oliver chirped eagerly.

Arthur grimaced, "Stop repeating that phrase."  
"Not until you tell me what's happening on your side right now! C'mon, tell me what's-"  
"Fine!" Arthur growled.  
The twisted reflection leaned forward, a contented expression on it's face.

Arthur sighed, "Alright, I'll start from the beginning. So we, the G8 plus Norway and Romania, had just finished looking into your dimension, at your Axis trio-"  
"Particularly rude, if you ask me."  
"...And we were about to talk about it-"  
"Why talk? Talking's boring! Just go straight into the action~!"  
"... ...But then-"  
"Just skip to the interesting part!"

Arthur glowered at his counterpart, "Would you like to hear this or not?"  
"Boring... And you tell me about stereotypes, then use that phrase..." Oliver growled, sitting back in it's chair.  
Arthur sighed, clearly had enough of the eccentric not-England.  
"Sorry," Oliver mouthed, giggling.

"Anyway... We were about to talk about it, but then something odd occurred... I'm not sure how to explain it exactly, but it was as if the world had warped. Then, there was this black, then grey, then white, which somehow hurt ... ...a lot. Next thing we know, we're in a snowy wasteland with a log cabin that seems to have enough supplies for us to last a fortnight. Oh, and the dimensional wavelength is different from yours and ours, plus we can't really feel our countries anymore..." Arthur told him, realizing how ridiculous the tale sounded when told out loud.

Oliver frowned, "You're not just making this up, are you?"  
"I'm not! Seriously," Arthur confirmed.  
"Heh, it seems like this rift is getting worse. Looking into our dimension didn't help~!" Oliver continued to use a sing-songy voice, despite the circumstances.  
Arthur rolled his eyes, "Says the person who broke my teacups for seemingly no particular reason, other than to get on my nerves."

Oliver furrowed its brow, "...Teacups? What teacups? I didn't break any teacups!"  
"...Well, the cups that broke right after I encountered you for the first time certainly aren't pleading your case," sneered Arthur.  
"Oh, please. Do you really think I could perform a spell like that in so little time?" Oliver leaned forward, grim smile twisting his face, "Maybe this has something to do with our, or rather, your, situation."  
"...What?"

"Think of it. You look into another dimension, then these teacups supposedly break, then you fall into some weird dimension that is neither mine nor yours. _And_ it has enough supplies to last you specific time limit, with no way out, unless you die of hypothermia. Seems like an awfully detailed set-up, if you ask me~!" Oliver's blue eyes gleamed wickedly.  
The eccentric Brit continued, "Oh, and you blamed all of it on us. Somebody is trying to pit you against us. And just because you heard something about poisonous cupcakes and saw someone threaten someone else, _you are falling for it_."

It had leaned uncomfortably close to Arthur as he uttered the last part, wry grin twisting it's face and eyes with a slight sadistic undertone, as if it could reach through and pull its counterpart into its broken world.  
"But, that's just my opinion. And you definitely can't trust the evil reflection, can you~?" Oliver giggled, lounging back in its chair and observing Arthur with lazy half-lidded eyes.

Arthur averted his gaze, looking down. Perhaps talking to Oliver hadn't been such a brilliant idea, after all. It wove beguiling tales with honeyed words, and he wasn't so sure if he could trust it anymore.  
"Now that I've properly talked with you, I think I trust you less," Arthur remarked.  
Oliver continued its theory, "That's what they want you to believe~!"  
"And who exactly is 'they'?" Arthur asked.

It paused, "Uh... Who knows~?" An uneasy grin was plastered across its face.  
"You sound like America, with your conspiracy theory. You should at least know something about 'them'," Arthur grumbled.  
"My America is unlike your America, because your America, unlike my America, is a conspiracy theorist, and my America is different from your America because my America isn't~!" Oliver giggled.  
"Stop avoiding the question by blurting out pointless nonsense," Arthur groaned.  
"Who is 'they'? Only 'they' know who 'they' are!" Oliver kept attempting to distract its counterpart.

"Thank you for revealing absolutely nothing, including whether or not you're on our side!" Arthur ran his hands down his face.  
Oliver smiled something that would be charming, if not performed by an eccentric, delusional reflection, "You're very welcome! Please come again~!"  
Arthur turned, knowing if he stayed any longer he might lose his sanity, when he heard a sound much like that of breaking glass. He swiveled around, and greeted by the sight of Oliver frowning at some very broken glass, a shatter pattern that was blue against the dark background.

"What the hell did you do to my mirror?!" Arthur exclaimed, then winced, hoping no-one had awoken from his sudden outburst, and the whole glass-shattering thing.  
Even after shattering a reflective surface, Oliver still had the nerve to be a snarky little jerk, "What, you've found it in the middle of a 'snowy wasteland', and now it's your mirror?"  
Ignoring his counterpart, Arthur traced the shatter pattern, but the surface was still smooth, "What the-"  
"I broke it on my side, but apparently you can see it, too," Oliver raised an eyebrow.  
"Why did you break it in the first place!?" Arthur growled.

"...No particular reason."  
"You didn't want me to leave."  
"I did."  
"You want attention."  
"I don't!"  
"You are a self-centered arse."  
"No I'm not~!"

Arthur sighed, "Well, whatever the reason, I can see the shatter pattern even though I'm on the other side."  
Oliver didn't answer, tracing over the cracks and cutting its finger. Blood oozed out of the wound, dripping down its finger and lazily down the mirror.  
"Why on earth did you do that?" Arthur asked, but in a less shocked voice, getting used to the reflection's odd actions. On instinct, he went to wipe the blood from the mirror, and it smeared over his finger.  
"...Wait. The shattered mirror is on your side but-"  
Oliver cut him off, "Oh, this full of fun surprises. I bet we could even find a way to travel between dimensions~!"  
Arthur replied in an absent-minded voice, only after staring at his bloody finger for a few seconds, "...Don't you even think about it."

Slowly, he reached for the mirror again, but it stayed on his side, blood tainting the formerly clean surface.  
"Just what is happening?" he breathed.  
"Well, it beats me. Also, that blood on your finger, which is also mine, is dripping to the floor, or whatever surface is below you," Oliver observed.  
Arthur frowned down at the sink spattered with red, and cleaned his hand of it, then the basin.

"Alright. If you can reach through, then~!" Oliver aimed a punch at Arthur, its knives currently unavailable, and attempted to hit his counterpart.  
Arthur yelped, then flinched at the sound of broken glass for the second time in the last 5 minutes. Oliver's mirror shattered even more, and it frowned, pulling back its hand. Now, it was embedded with glass shards, more crimson oozing out of the wounds, "Well, that's unfortunate."

"I'm leaving. Now. And getting Norway and Romania before something else happens," the blonde growled.  
Oliver shrugged, "Suit yourself. I think I've gathered enough information from this little experiment. Wait, one more try, one more try~!"  
Arthur tried as best as he could to ignore it and get out of there, but then felt a grip on his arm.

He turned, eyes wide.

Oliver was leaning out of the mirror, grabbing onto Arthur's sleeve tightly. The rest of its body seemed to still be on the other side. It seemed as shocked as him.  
"Hm. Well, that just happened," it remarked.  
Arthur let out something between a strangled gasp and a yelp, when Oliver tugged him.

Pulled him into the mirror.  
Pulled him into the twisted dimension.

* * *

Vladimir heard the sound of shattered glass the third time, pressed up against the wall beside the bathroom door, and knew that he had to enter.

He reached for the door, and hesitated as he felt a hand on his shoulder, whipping around to see Lukas. He sighed, "I thought you were some evil spirit. So you can sense it, too?"  
Lukas nodded, "And I heard the shattering glass... England's not in his bed. Let's enter together."  
The Romanian nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They both reached for the door, and twisted the brass handle.

Inside, a man looking remarkably like Arthur (except, of course, the clothes and eyes and hair) had propped himself up on one elbow, many shards of glass below him and digging into him. He was staring at his hand, which was oozing blood, when he heard the door open and looked up, seeing Vladimir and Lukas enter.

"...Oopsie~!"

* * *

 **Ugh, it was really hard to make sure Oliver is always referred to as 'it' until Vlad's POV. Oops. Shh, don't tell anyone I said that.**

 **Anyways, the conversation between Arthur and Oliver was very fun to write. I love writing Arthur's reactions as he discovers the slightly more twisted side of Oliver, and what he thinks of him- uh, ahem- it.**

 **(Also, 'blood tainting'. Blood-Tainted Tomorrow (one of the options for another fanfic). Anyone? No?)**

 **Tell me your reaction to the ending! *evil laughter*. Don't worry, the new enigmas popping around the place won't be as common in the later chapters, and many might be explained soon.**

 **But, wooooow. I really want to know what you thought.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	9. Bordering on Awry Circumstances

**Hey Guys!**

 **Hooray! New chapter!  
**

 **I recommend voting in the 2016 Hetalia Awards, mostly so I have more fanfiction to add to my already very lengthy list. Heh... It isn't even as long as the list of anime I need to watch. There's about 40 on there, and I just ignore them completely, much like my bookshelf.**

 **This chapter may seem a little odd, and it is abnormally short, but it is VERY important. It's also the first (sort of) angst chapter! Hooray! There will be more of this in the future, so I'm just giving you a taste of the heartrenching stuff you are going to feel.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 9

It was raining outside. Pouring down in not-quite-a-thunderstorm, filling the air with sound of drip-drops hitting the pavement. Trees and grass and other greenery being pounded by the torrent, the raindrops wetting the ground and giving that very lovely smell, petrichor if you wished to sound educated. Pedestrians with bright umbrellas wandering down the worn cobblestone walkways, or perhaps hurrying in a frenzy to arrive at whatever meeting or gathering or birthday party they had forgotten they had at so early in the gloomy morning. Clouds overhead, threatening to unleash claps of thunder and streaks of bright, bordering, bordering, bordering, on a lightning-storm.

It was humbling, seeing mundane, domestic life in the background of madness. But Arthur, while happy to glance out the window once in a while and get a glimpse into the lives of his citizens, couldn't care less about petrichor or an old woman from the down the street under a fuchsia umbrella. Everything just felt so very... ...wrong.

Now, while being disconnected from his people had been a disconcerting feeling before, he had been able to mostly ignore it. But now... Every inch of his being was screaming that he wasn't supposed to be here, a hazy, worrying sense that made him feel as if he were about to be sick. His heart pounded like a frenzied drum, and he was even able to ignore the glass shards digging into him, how painful and harrowing they may be.

 _Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump._

His heartbeat echoed his head, making him ache more than the horrible fragments he was lying on. Everything was wrong- wrong, wrong, wrong. He wasn't supposed to be here. No, not at all.

Everything slipped into black as he fell unconscious.

Not at all.

* * *

Within one's own dreamscape is the best way to look into the heart, albeit ambiguous and vague, hidden in plain sight.  
Bordering on dream and reality is the very best way, for there is nowhere to hide the true meaning.

Arthur was afraid. He was so very afraid. With fear brought memories of the same scared intensity, and he grew more and more afraid. He remembered wars and hardships and ruin. He remembered horror and heartbreak and broken hopes. He remembered feeling his citizens die in all the bloody conflicts he had been involved in. Now they weren't there, there was just emptiness and wrongness and too much fear, too much.

He wasn't dying, that he was of the upmost certainty. He was just falling. Free-falling. Without a parachute.

No-one to catch him.

He was alone.

In the dark.

He was alone.

And a cruel monster was torturing him. Memories, memories, memories. Bordering on reminiscence. Memories, memories, memories. Too many mistakes, that other suffered for.

He was bordering on sheer terror.

* * *

When he not-quite-awoke from his not-quite-dream, he was in a bed, with his glass wounds bandaged up. As he stared up at the ceiling, he was almost hitting himself for his stupidity. Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity! He was in another dimension!

He sat up, wincing, and wondered where he was. Most probably Oliver's house...

He looked out the window. It was still raining outside.

* * *

 **Oops. I was being over-dramatic, wasn't I?**

 **As I mentioned, strange but important chapter. If you happen to like making theories, I've given you plenty of material bordering in plain sight. Hehehe~!  
**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	10. Hot Chocolate and Illuminations

**Salutations~!**

 **An update? So soon? What is this madness?**

 **Yeah, I kinda felt bad for the short but IMPORTANT chapter, so here's a nice long one! The longest so far~! (Hooray!) (But only by a little...)  
And so the plot thickens...**

 **((OH, AND 10 CHAPTERS! ONLY 44 AND A POSSIBLE EPILOGUE TO GO!))**

 **I've been doing a little planning and... ...wow. It's going to get even more crazy real soon! And I can't wait for one of the chapters with the most angst- it's going to be SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!  
(When I was editing this, the stupid American spell check didn't recognize 'spilt' as a word! SHAME!)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 10

Lukas didn't seem to be taking a liking to Oliver, as Feliciano noticed.  
The way he observed him with narrowed, slitted eyes and pursed lips. The way he was so very obviously uncomfortable around him, uncharacteristically shifting and fidgeting. The way he seemed to look him over, judging, somehow searching for a single clue that Oliver had bad intentions. The way he challenged everything and anything Oliver said.

Within two minutes in the same room, a silent war was brewing, Lukas glowering at the counterpart while Oliver looked at him lazily, with the slightest hint of daring shining in those blue eyes. At least, Feliciano thought they were blue. For a split second while looking at Lukas with ambiguity, the Italian was certain his eyes had flecks of pink in them, but when Oliver blinked, they were gone.

The situation they were in was terribly awkward, with pretty much everyone in the vicinity thinking Oliver had pulled Arthur into his dimension, and coming into wherever-they-were. Oliver didn't seem to care, lazily draped over a wooden chair he had stolen from the tiny dining table- much like a cat. The others were either crowded on the couch or sitting on the rug, as far away from the doppelganger as possible. Feliciano didn't blame them, and was also distancing himself from Oliver. Everything about him screamed 'untrustworthy', from the way he spoke, the way he skipped along instead of walking, even the way he held himself. He was a polar opposite to Arthur, cheerful and sly and somewhat cunning (Feliciano had directed no intended offence to Arthur).

They had received much of a shock when they woke up to see the counterpart- and after much confusion and panic, they had finally calmed down enough to listen to what happened. On Lukas and Vlad's side of the story, they woke up and an 'inexplicable force' was pulling them to the bathroom. They heard glass shattering three times, and when they went inside, Oliver was lying on the fragments of a very broken mirror. According to Oliver, he had been talking to Arthur (which Feliciano didn't remember conversed at yesterday) and he had they had just 'switched places'. As expected, no one seemed to believe him except Ivan. Actually, it was pretty hard to tell what Ivan even thought. His difficult-to-break mask consisted of a cheerful yet menacing smile and a creepy aura, but everyone had already gotten used to that. This alternate England... There was something about him, an air that was hard to read, but still there.

After his explanation of the turn of events, Oliver grinned and continued to laze around in his chair, lying sideways in what seemed to be an uncomfortable position on the solid wood. There was an uncomfortable and uneasy silence, which only made the doppelganger grin more, leaning back his head and looking at the ceiling, his newly acquired hot chocolate at a dangerous angle and threatening to spill.  
"So, then~! Are we going to talk, or are you all going to mope around and be boring?" Oliver asked, still in his less-than-comfortable position on the chair. Feliciano noticed he hadn't yet taken a sip of his drink.

Lukas was still glaring at him, but Oliver had just started ignoring him, in favour of looking across the room, observing all of them. The way he seemed to pause at Feliciano made the Italian shiver.  
"Well, you lot certainly are much more different," Oliver observed. The Norwegian stopped glaring at him, instead putting on his usual neutral expression, as if he had never been annoyed at Oliver in the first place. It certainly was an odd action, but it was almost unnoticed, as they were all busy looking at the alternate England.  
Lukas spoke in a neutral, emotionless tone, much unlike the accusing tone he had adopted earlier, "To us, you're the different one." But, there still was a slight edge to his voice, barely detectable.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, "Yes, I do suppose there's that~!"  
His voice was less lax then before, and the cheerfulness seemed very forced. It was as if... As if they were waging their little war much more stealthily now, so the other nations wouldn't try to interrupt.  
The blue-eyed England settled his gaze on Feliciano once again, and he shifted uncomfortably, inching back ever so slightly.  
"Yes, definitely. It seems this Italy is the most unlike the one I know~!"

For which Feliciano was relieved. He wouldn't want to be anything similar to his counterpart. If you ignored the whole fact he had pressed a knife against Japan's neck, there was something so very... ...cold? Manipulative? ...Sadistic? Yes, all of these seemed to fit that gleam within his open eyes.  
It seemed that whatever Oliver had seen in him, it wasn't those cold, cold, eyes. Everyone seemed to agree with him, even though they hadn't even seen the other counterparts, apart from Germany and Japan.  
But what frightened him most was that these counterparts were still them, right? They were still the nations, just in a different light.

Suddenly, Feliciano was feeling very cold. His gaze flickered over to the dancing flames, and they didn't seem to give off any warmth at all. Almost the opposite.

They just let Oliver continue observing them, no matter how uneasy it made them feel. Again, his gaze settled over someone he had barely spotted. ...Canada, or Matthew, wasn't it? Yeah, Feliciano thought that was right.  
"My, my. You're very different, too. I almost didn't see you there~!" Oliver exclaimed. Matthew seemed uncomfortable at this comment, and squirmed on his cramped spot on the couch, being sandwiched between Ivan and Alfred making it more difficult.  
"Over at my place, Canada is impossible to ignore. Even if he just is sitting around and not doing anything, as he usually is, he'll be one of the first things you notice when you enter the room~! Well, I suppose that was always a little odd..." Oliver trailed off.

Feliciano was sure he had just seen a flicker of something in Canadian's eyes. Had that possibly been... ...envy? Yes it had, plain as day. The Italian had thought of Matthew as an envious person. Then again, he never really noticed him long enough to make a proper judgement. Regret followed Matthew's brief lapse in judgement, and guilt, making him look down and seem ashamed. Suddenly Feliciano wondered how it would be to be ignored or mistaken for Alfred all the time... The Italian suddenly felt sick to his stomach, realising how ignored and alone he must feel. He made a promise to himself to notice Matthew more, maybe talk a little with him.

Seeming satisfied with his observations, Oliver moved from his position and sat properly in the chair, only just narrowly avoiding his drink being spilt. Taking a single sip and placing it on a side table he lazily flicked his gaze over the group one last time, then frowned, "Hm. I guess I was right. You all _are_ boring!"  
He said it as if it was the discovery of the century, and giggled somewhat crazily, "Don't look at me like that, like I'm from another planet~! Relax a little! I've only weakened the barrier between dimensions even further! We're only stuck in the middle of a snowy wasteland with a dwindling food supply!"  
Everyone seemed to grow even more uncomfortable. Oliver's behaviour was so odd. It was only given they'd be uneasy, especially with each word and action reinforcing the idea he was completely and utterly insane.

Kiku, though uncomfortable like the rest of them, seemed to be deep in thought, as if considering something very serious. After a little while, his eyes lit up and he announced, "The tsundere has turned into a yandere!"  
Everyone was baffled by this sudden exclamation, especially since Kiku was usually so quiet. Ludwig asked, "Uh, what?"  
Kiku looked abashed at his announcement, it had clearly come out louder than he wanted, if he even intended to say it out loud at all, "Nevermind. From what we've seen so far, he's more like a yangire, anyway..."  
Oliver blinked, "Kuro said something about yan-whatever-it-is when talking about me... Is some Japanese insult?"  
If it was even possible, Kiku looked even more embarrassed, "Ah... It's nothing important..."  
Oliver clearly wished to ask more, but seemed to noticed the Japanese man's embarrassment and discomfort, so he refrained. At least he was somewhat polite.

Eventually, curiousity overrode caution, and Vladimir hesitantly asked, "...What are our other selves like...?"  
Oliver grinned at the change of subject, "I'll be glad to tell you~!"  
The nations listened in with interest, wanting to know about their other selves. Even Lukas seemed to be curious at this, despite his rather out-of-character intent to distrust Oliver.

The alternate England looked up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression, "Well, I'll start on Italy, since he's probably the most different. Over at my place, he's a little... ...interesting. He's the leader of the Axis trio, and even if he wasn't, he'd still be in charge. He does whatever he feels like, mostly because is anyone objected they'd find a knife in their abdomen. He usually acts calm and suave, but if you anger him, he'll act really explosive and will most likely attempt to slit your throat. He and his brother, Romano, get in fights frequently. Then Romano gets upset because he doesn't like his clothes soaked in blood... Anyway, if you start a fight with him, he will throw knives at you and slash at you. If you got him really mad, then he'll probably torture you and slice off your limbs while you're still alive. All the while acting like a complete lunatic. I've never really fought him fairly before, because onlookers tend to stop us before we kill each other, but his fighting technique is much more... ...slick then mine. He prefers clean, swift movements, while I prefer hacking and stabbing."

Throughout the entire description, they listened with a morbid curiousity. This was the exact opposite of their Italian. Speaking of Feliciano, he had grown very pale through the whole thing, clearly terrified. Oliver noticed all their expressions and his eyes gleamed, "Don't be afraid of him. He's in a completely different dimension, and I'm pretty much just as dangerous and insane while in the same room as you~!"  
This caused everyone to become very uneasy, almost terrified. Even Russia seemed threatened.

Oliver let out a slightly crazy laugh, "You should see your expressions~! Anyway, who wants to go next?"  
When no-one responded, he shrugged, "Fine then! I choose... You!"  
He pointed at Alfred, who widened his eyes, "So, what do you want to know about your alternate self first? Oh, I know~! He's very interesting, just like Italy! He's pretty much a thug, carrying around a nailed bat all the time to threaten people. ...And he swears a lot, despite my objections. Yet, he's a bit less insane then some of us, and he can play some instruments pretty well. Oh, he's a vegan, and likes animals a lot~! But he might be a little perverted at times..."

The fact that his counterpart didn't seem as bad as Italy's or England's made Alfred relax a little, though he did get a little annoyed at the line about him being a vegan, "Who the f**k doesn't like meat?! He can't even eat hamburgers?"  
Oliver narrowed his eyes, "Oh, great. Another swear-y America. ...You owe me a dollar..."  
Alfred seemed confused about the last part, and felt that it was a tiny bit of a threat.

The other England's expression quickly turned back to joyful, though, "So anyone else want to know about their other selves? How about you, alternate Romania? You're the one who suggested I do this in the first place~!"  
Vlad blinked, and seemed to pale a little.  
"I'll take that as a yes! So Romania for me is grumpy all the time. It's a bit annoying, really. It's fun to get on his nerves, though! He mostly keeps to himself. He can be cruel, like most of us, if you upset him, and even a little sadistic. Well, we're all mad here~!"  
Even though Vasile happened to use magic, they never really socialized much, so he didn't have much to say. He was, though, disappointed that no-one had caught the Alice in Wonderland reference.

Oliver looked over at Lukas with a surprisingly icy glare, "Your counterpart is, surprisingly, very _friendly_. But, he can get pretty insane at times. Kuro also described him as a yan-whatever-it-is. He's very energetic and outgoing, and I've never seen him shy before. He carries around a flamethrower, though. That he can threaten people with. Really, you shouldn't be surprised by now."  
Lukas kept his neutral expression throughout the entire explanation, though he seemed to be experiencing a range of emotions inside.

Oliver looked over at the rest of the nations and displayed a cruel grin that chilled them all to the bone, "Okay, who should I explain next~?"

* * *

 **Since this story was simply a rough idea in my mind, I have wanted Kiku to say the tsundere-yandere line. One of the only-major-in-my-mind moments is fulfilled, I can finally sleep since I've shared that line with you. (I'm not even joking.)**

 **Welp, it is now proven Oliver is completely insane! Don't worry, as unpredictable as he is, he won't slit their throats in the middle of the night. ...Probably.**

 **For Romania, I just decided to ignore the wiki and make up my own, because there is almost nothing there. You see how well my interpretation went... Sorry for that.**

 **I would describe all the nations, but it's long enough, and I want to go to sleep, but publish it before I go to sleep, so y'all weird Americans can read it while I'm sleeping.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	11. Magic's Two Left

**Salutations~!**

 **Yay! Update!**

 **Not much to say here. Except that I FINALLY started listening to 'Welcome to Night Vale' and it might be the most perfect thing to ever grace my ears.**

 **So, finally we get a proper chapter of Arthur in the 2p dimension! It will be fun... That is all I am going to disclose, just read the chapter.  
**

 **((Okay shut up I just wanted to remind you of the amazingness of natcat5's fanfiction 'Dragons in the Backyard at Night'. Mostly because I had a dream about it being updated. Not even joking.))**

 **Can I just say that, if the timeline feels iffy, time works differently in the 2p dimension. It may be... ...partly why Arthur felt so weird upon his entrance. The other reason may be disclosed in the future.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 11

When Allen knocked on the door, it was answered after much conundrum from the inside of Oliver's house that he and Matt couldn't quite figure out.  
Then the door was opened.

Instead of an Oliver who they would expect to still be cheerful, they were met with the judging glare of Vasile, "Leave."  
The Romanian tried to close the door, but Allen quickly wedged his hand in between it and the frame. Vasile's glare became even more toxic and he put more force on it. Soon, when Allen still was holding strong and glaring back at him, Vasile used most of his strength, breaking Allen's hand and making him cry out in alarm. But, Allen continued to leave his hand there, continuing to resist yet still obviously in pain, from his freshly broken hand being provoked.  
"We just want... ...to see England. Let us in!" Allen growled. Matt looked on, with seemingly no intent to assist his brother.

Vasile narrowed his eyes, and seemed about to put on more pressure, when they heard a cry from somewhere in the house, obviously the voice of Loki, "What's taking so long?"  
The sentence, though still a bit sing-songy, as you'd expect from the Norwegian, held a slight tone that Allen was sure he had also heard in Vasile's voice, which he only really noticed while looking back on it.  
"Let. Us. In," Allen threatened again, and his free hand was reaching for his baseball bat, causing Vasile to put even more pressure on the wound and splinter the bone further, blood beginning to rush out and taint the floor. Allen glared at him with as much intensity as he could muster. Matt finally decided to step in, taking the edge of the door and trying to hitch it backwards. This gave Allen the relief to get his other hand and help the Canadian in his efforts to pull the door ajar. They were managing to force it back.

Loki, by now, had wandered into the hall to see why Vasile was taking so long, saw the North American brothers trying (and succeeding) to force the door open, and immediately went to help Vasile. Soon, they were at a standstill that any normal onlooker would want to run away from, with the intensity in their glares and the mutilated hand owned by Allen. Eventually, Allen and Matt's strength won out, and they forced the door open.

"Why did you just break America's hand and try desperately with force to keep us out?" Matt asked, and there was a slight, rare edge to his voice.

Loki and Vasile glanced at each other with unreadable expressions. Loki replied, "No particular reason~!"  
Like earlier, there was something about the way he said it that wasn't quite right. It became even more glaringly obvious with his body language, eyes averted and fidgeting in a nervous tremour. It was extremely disconcerting.  
"Uh, why are you two here in the first place?" Allen inquired, wincing as he cradled his hand. Another injury today, how wonderful.

The Romanian looked nervously at the two, eyes filled with a fake and hastily applied mask and something that was extremely rare- fear. And... ...was that pleading?  
"Just go. Now. Don't get involved in this. Forget this encounter. Just..."  
Vasile hesitated, then added with a shaking voice, "...Please. Please go. I... I... I beg of you."

Now Matt and Allen were very worried, and a little bit terrified. What caused this _extremely_ out of character behaviour? ...Did it have to do with the reflections? Vasile and Loki were experienced in magic, so they heard. And where was Oliver?

After a moment's hesitation, Allen made his decision. Casting a meaningful glance at Matt, he barged past the two nations. They didn't resist at all, only looking on with regret and fear. It was actually very frightening, and Allen's hands shook as he entered the house. Matt seemed to think for a second, then followed after his brother. The two headed into the hallway, and Allen walked towards Oliver's bedroom with what only could be pure instinct.

The American's hand lingered on the doorknob, and he glanced back at the two other members of the Magic Trio. Their gazes said something so very clearly.

 _Please, don't._

Allen opened the door.

* * *

Arthur was confused and scared and worried and full of that all-too-familiar inexplicable dread. The dread was worse than ever before, overbearing and terrifying and too present. Also, that feeling of wrong-ness he had experienced since he fell through that mirror was still there. He couldn't think straight. This was too overwhelming. The kind-of-artificial-but-too-natural-to-be-comfortable dread made him hold his head in his hands.

This world's Romania and Norway had come in. They said he had appeared in the bathroom, and Oliver was gone. They seemed nervous. They might've been lying. Yes. Just blame it on the twisted, wrong, terrifying, sadistic... The horrid... Blame it on the reflections.

No... He was just running away, wasn't he? He could perceive the reflections. If it wasn't the reflections, what was it? He was taking the cowardly route, the weak route, the unfair route. Unfair on the please-be-evil reflections.

He was in Oliver's room. Oliver's room was like his own, just decorated with pastel pinks and blues and yellows instead of the sensible white he had. It liked these sorts of colours, it seemed. From pastel to shockingly bright. It was too glaring for Arthur. Whites and creams and other plain colours decorated the newer buildings in his house. The older ones had wallpaper, crumbling wallpaper from too long ago, wallpaper that needed to be replaced. Yes... When he went home, he would go to his large, ancient house far from London, his house that he felt most comfortable in, away from the big cities. He wouldn't give it newer designs. Perhaps just reuse the old patterns, replace it with a slightly more recently made copy.

As these mundane thoughts filled his head, his dread slipped away until it was barely there. That old house was so familiar. He owned houses in practically all of his big towns and cities, but that one was his favourite, because that one was so old... But that one was so old, that familiar house held so many memories. Unpleasant ones. Pleasant ones. The pleasant ones made his heart ache. The unpleasant ones did much the same. Both were wedged permanently in the recesses of his mind.

Everything around him was so familiar. Everything around him was so different. Oh, why, oh, why, did he land in the so-similar-so-peculiar house that his counterpart owned?

As his thoughts grew far away from interior design and to his situation, the foreboding returned.

He was about to attempt to fend it away, but then the door creaked open.

* * *

Allen had hoped that Oliver would be on the other side of that door. That everything was normal and Vasile and Loki just happened to be putting up a very convincing act.

But then he saw the resident of the room.

He vaguely remembered something that Oliver had quoted, once upon a time. Among dusty books.

 _"Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. The first part is called "The Pledge". The magician shows you something ordinary: a deck of cards, a bird or a man. He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see is it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But of course... it probably isn't."_

Oliver was the object- the man.

 _"The second act is called "The Turn". The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled."_

Oliver was gone, replaced by someone else, and everything Allen knew is gone.  
But did he really want to be fooled?

 _"But you wouldn't clap yet. Because making something disappear isn't enough; you have to bring it back."_

Bring Oliver back.

 _"That's why every magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call "The Prestige"."_

Would this act even be completed?

...And who was the magician?

* * *

After Vasile and Loki's failure to keep Allen and Matt out, shock was experienced from both Arthur and the North American brothers.

Now tea was in order, Arthur sipping it slowly, and Allen and Matt completely ignoring it.

After a long silence of the 5 nations being terrified internally, Arthur sighed, and looked straight across to Allen and Matt, "It seems that we've not only failed abysmally at preventing a disaster such as this, but this world's America and Canada lack the common sense to not get involved in the clearly dangerous supernatural activity currently going on. My America happens to regularly own a brain the size of a small pea, but at least my Canada would be intelligent enough to avoid the magical threat. Congratulations, you both are now f**ked like us three."

The sudden, and very rude comment, was so disconnected from their own England that Allen would've burst out laughing- in less serious circumstances. Instead, an amused grin appeared on his face, and Canada raised an eyebrow with a small smirk.

"...What is so amusing? Our current situation is nothing to laugh about. You two truly do lack the brain capacity to understand our dire circumstances, and how painful our almost inevitable deaths will be from whatever force is strong enough to breach two equally s**ty dimensions."

The absolute pessimism of the comment and the swear word was so unexpected from someone who looked almost identical to Oliver made the brothers burst out laughing. Arthur's brow was furrowed in confusion, and he opened his mouth to say more when Allen prevented him.

"Stop! Your pessimism is killing me!"

Perhaps these reflections weren't that sadistic, after all.

* * *

 **Ah! Sorry! A lot of this was just character analysis and development, and vague hints! It's important, but not as interesting to read, bordering on tiring...**

 **The parts in italics and in quotation marks are part of a quote by Christopher Priest. I do not claim to own these parts.**

 **This chapter is kinda short, but I need it out before I have to go to sleep. Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	12. Unwanted Attention, Unwanted Truths

**Salutations~!**

 **Okay, just to tell you, this chapter will be a little different... I mean, it's not bordering on weird, but it will be different than all the chapters so far. Also, I will say there will be more chapters like this in the future.  
(The amount of times I'm repeating that one word even though it is already obvious it will probably hold major significance is bordering on annoying.)**

 **Boy, the plot is going to explode soon. Like, a couple of chapters from this one. Hope you're prepared.**

 **When we get to the angsty chapters, I really hope I do them properly. Even though I enjoy reading angst (like the weirdo I am), I never really write it. Let's hope it isn't horrible.**

 **Oh, and I've recently been majorly distracted by Supernatural. Yes, I did hold a bad case of secondary fandom, so I started watching it. Now I can't escape it.  
**

 **(Just keep in mind this is set before all this present drama or whatever- I don't keep up the news ;-w-)**

 **Hope you Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 12

It was a disaster.

Well, most meetings between nations was a disaster, but this one took the cake. It really was ridiculous.

Before Scotland, the self-proclaimed (and seemingly temporary, from the way things were going) leader, had even gotten a single sentence out, disharmony had erupted. Now, Scotland was angrily trying to calm them (very unsuccessfully) while a cacophony of voices all trying to take over the 'conversation' cried out and left Wales wanting to go to sleep and pretend this meeting never happened.

He couldn't do that, though. Not when his little brother was missing.

Okay, other nations were missing, too, but he was mostly worried about England. Even though they all basically hated each other, there still was the underlying overprotective-older-brother complex that reared its head every hundred years. He could tell Scotland and Northern Ireland felt it, too. Even though the latter of the two was sort of to the side, watching. It kind of unnerved Wales when he did that.

The meeting had an unlikely combination of nations. From Belarus (watching the catastrophe with a dark aura and an acid glare) and Ukraine (laughing in a forced manner while nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt) to South Italy (angrily insulting everyone and not helping at all) to pretty much the entire Asian family (South Korea, Taiwan and China contributing to the dissonance, while Vietnam, Hong Kong, Thailand and Macau either watched on with judgement or tried to calm everyone). It was all a big disaster, the usual and inevitable friction of a world meeting turning into a huge mess of noise, carelessly thrown threats and insults, and even the occasional bouts of violence exploding between everyone. Wales realized it all boiled down to the worry for their fellow nations, allies and siblings. It was oddly touching, in a rather ludicrous manner. Soon, the people trying to pacify the situation just gave up.

Until, it all just... ...stopped. The hostility just sort of ceased, but not in a abrupt way, in a way that you didn't even notice until it was breathing down your neck. It was an odd occurrence, one Wales wasn't sure if he had witnessed before. Especially with all disputes in previous meetings between nations usually ending with a shouted word from a nation (most commonly Germany), it was extremely strange to see one end in a such a natural matter.  
It meant the situation they were in was desperate enough to cause even temporary peace.

It scared him.

Soon, Scotland took hold of the uncomfortable silence, "Argh, anyway... I was just about to start talking, _before I was so rudely interrupted_."  
Scotland was good at that. Making people- and nations- feel guilty. It was sort of a weird talent of his.  
"So, we're all here because a bunch of nations disappeared. Some didn't come because they didn't care, or weren't bothered, or somethin', but yer- we're- the exception. Well done, us."  
So was being a major, sarcastic jerk.

"I have a question," Ireland raised his hand with a deadpan expression, "Why are you telling us this, when you should be gettin' to the f**kin' point? Oh, wait. There isn't one."  
Well, Ireland was a jerk, too.  
Scotland ignored his brother's interruption masterfully, after many, many years of perfecting the art, "We should be doin' somethin' about it, rather than pointlessly blathering on like a bunch of idiotic whiners."  
Wales decided to cut in at this point, "But _are_ a bunch of idiotic whiners. Oh, but you are above us, our great and masterful leader!"

Being a sarcastic jerk just seemed to run in the family.

Scotland continued to ignore his brothers, "Thar seems to be some weird plot goin' on right under out noises, and it irks me somehow... How 'bout we go over the facts for anyone who doesn't know yet."  
Everyone knew what was going on, of course, but Scotland was just stalling for time. After all, he wasn't ready to address the issue, it was just all weird and confusing and terrifying in some aspects. Everyone seemed to accept this.

"So we got the G8, plus Norway and Romania, disappearin' off the face of the Earth. We've looked thoroughly in their houses and cities, talked to their governments over and over, phoned and texted each of them about a billion times, which doesn't even lead to voicemail, just claims the number doesn't exist, and even gone so far as to put out f**kin' missin' person adverts, but to no avail. So now we're stuck in this f**kin' ordinary meetin' room as if it's an ordinary world meetin' with ordinary attendants in an ordinary situation," he ranted, "Now, we've got f**kin' witnesses about to deliver thar f**kin' testimonies as if this was an _ordinary f**kin' case in an ordinary f**kin court. F**k._ "

Each syllable in the last part were carefully emphasized. He had slipped into a rather heavy and hard to understand accent, and swore excessively. It was clear what the cause of this was.

Denmark nervously shifted, then asked, "So, uh, do I go now?"  
Scotland grumpily answered, "Yas."  
The Dane stood up and began speaking, "Uh, anyway. It was pretty early, like, a few minutes after half-past six or something. Me, Finland, Sweden, Iceland and Norway were all at his house for some sleepover or whatever. We were all asleep, except Norway. That guy sleeps when he wants. I heard this loud smash, so I got up to see what it was. Norway was saying something into his phone, then he hung up and went into his room, returning with all his weird magic stuff. He was leaving the house, kinda quickly, and when I asked why he told me to stay away from reflective surfaces, then slammed the door behind him. Later, I called him, but it went to voicemail, and even later it didn't recognise the number, like Scotland said."

He awkwardly sat down, and Scotland asked, "Do any of the other Nordics have anything to add?"  
They all claimed they were asleep. Scotland seemed somewhat annoyed at this, "Alright, now fer Romania."  
Bulgaria delivered a similar testimony to Denmark, explaining how Romania had randomly left the house (which he had been visiting at 7:30 for business purposes) with magic gear. And telling him to stay away from reflective surfaces.

As they discussed this, they could only come to a single conclusion, even if it made no sense.

This all had something to do with 'magic'.

Now, they all really weren't that experienced on this subject. Even Scotland, Ireland and Wales had little to no knowledge on it. Besides, it wasn't real! There was no way magic could actually exist in real life!

...No way at all...

* * *

 **Okay, this was stupidly short. I'm really sorry!**

 **I usually don't write down accents, but I really couldn't resist for those three. And they're not very good, anyway- as I am not well-versed on the subject of accents. Sorry.**

 **((Also, while I was editing, I wrote 'Norgay' instead of 'Norway'- because I originally wrote 'Norge' out of habit... I fixed it, but I just thought I'd let you know.))**

 **So, you might be noticing the differences in the 1p and 2p segments. With the 1p and 1p other nations, it typically follows a linear order. But with the 2ps, it's all over the place. Heh heh...**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	13. Bordering on Hope Less

**Salutations~!**

 **I've some news.**

 **Firstly, the rating of the fanfiction is now M. As I was writing this, I realised it was pretty grisly, and it's only going to get worse... Better to be safe than sorry. But, uh. A word of warning: if you happen to be squeamish, you might wanna sit this one out.**

 **Secondly, I've started a new fanfiction. Yes, I know! But... It was so hard to resist. I think you'll guys like it. Not just because of shameless self-promoting, because I genuinely think people with in an interest in this one will have a similar interest in that one. Here's a little excerpt:  
** **'On the 27th of September, 2005, Arthur Kirkland went missing.  
Now, it was 2015, and the anniversary of the day grew nearer with each passing second.'  
;)**

 **This is another Bordering chapter. Bordering chapters are chapters which are oddly strange and short compared to the others, but are usually of great importance.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 13

It's all coming down to an end.

Fire is falling from the sky, thick black smoke clogging the air and filling Arthur's weak lungs with a horrid acidic burning. The heat blisters his skin, burning the very sky with blazing broken luster. It's scorching the wind and the trees and the ground and the everything going down around him in a fiery passion of dreadful glory and hot, dark death. The inferno lights up the heavens above him with malicious joy, bringing down the aflame world around him and trapping him in an idle shell being consumed entirely with gruesome heat. His flesh is bubbling and peeling, melting off his bones and disfiguring him into a ghastly creature of death.

But, it appears that this may not be true, after all.

It's all hazy and motionsick and gross, edges blurring and sides fading and a whimsical quality as the only way to distinguish from the real world. His head is packed with thick cotton, and he is inexplicably sick to his stomach. It's that horrible, disgusting feeling of wrong-ness again, except multiplied once, twice, three times. If not for the heat melting his very skin, or the ashen, broken ground that his worn boots are crunching beneath him, he would be unable to know what's happening around him. The world is rapidly spinning around him, and the pure intensity of the flames and the death is the only thing stopping him from fainting from the nauseating feeling of his gut twisting around itself. He wretches, but the only thing that comes out is bile. He grasps his stomach, feeling as if thousands of fleas are feasting on him from the inside out.

He wants this horrid dream to stop.

* * *

The next thing his dreamscape decides to throw at him may be even worse.

His skin and flesh have healed, the bubbling and melting fixed in an instant as if it were nothing more than a papercut. The world falls beneath him, collapsing into blackness and assembling into a small room. He is tied firmly to a wooden chair, cloth restraints somehow keeping him bound even though he could easily snap them if this were real. The room would be quaint, with the fireplace and the carpet and the comfy-looking reading chair, if not for the rack of wretched tools sitting right across from him. Through his long life, he's known torture before. In fact, the simple appliances before him were actually almost laughable compared to what he's faced before. But, those twisted things were still crafted for one purpose; to bring pain.

Even though the rack across from him has not been touched, he feels the cruel and harrowing fingers of pain raking across his skin. He couldn't pinpoint exactly the tool that was being used, but it still brought him indescribable agony. Blood gushes out of his coldly ripped wounds, pouring onto everything, coating it all in the red of his veins that he's seen all too often before. Tears won't come, though. Not yet.

Whatever is torturing him can sense that he isn't budging, so it changes again.

* * *

Now, Arthur can sense whatever-it-is is getting desperate.

His body is healed again, but he is deep, deep underwater. The liquid fills his lungs as he gasps for air, anything to stop him from reaching his demise. His hands claw at nothing but the bellowing deep, a feeling of weightlessness entangled in his gut. He tries to open his eyes, but they are sown shut with cat-stitch threads, blood trickling into his eyes and into the abyss surrounding him.

He still doesn't flinch.

* * *

Next, there is nothing.

Nothing is an odd sensation. There is really no way to describe it. For, to be able to describe anything, there has to be something. But, there isn't. Something and anything have abandoned him, and he is so alone. There is no time, in the nothing. There is no pain. There is no hope.

Because nothing is nothing.

He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to feel pain or fear or hope or anything, anything but this. It's terrifying, even though he can't be terrified. It's horrible, even though he can't be horrified. But, for some reason, he still feels that loneliness, sitting in the pit of his non-existent stomach. He still feels the pain of isolation, the fear, the broken hopes. He stills feels the rage, the questioning, the inescapable dread. He feels the shaking of his limbs, but he can't feel his limbs. He feels the quaking of his boots, even though it's impossible.

And there comes the last thing. The thing that he has experienced so many times, but never goes away. The doubt.

It claws on him from the inside. It dares him to give up. It dares him to fight. It dares him to die. And, most of all, it dares him to abandon those who he shouldn't. Doubt is a funny thing, really. Even though it's simple, even though it's obvious, even though it's a something he is so very heart-wrenchingly familiar with, it is massive and terrifying and monstrous.

Just what does this _thing_ want? Does it want to see him squirm? If so, will he ever be free?  
Yes, he will. He feels himself on the cusp of consciousness. He just has to wait a few more seconds...

But, time doesn't mean anything in the nothing.

* * *

 _"One moment you are feeling calm, self-possessed, happy. Then fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy. Doubt meets disbelief and disbelief tries to push it out. But disbelief is a poorly armed foot soldier. Doubt gets away with it with little trouble. You become anxious. Reason comes to do battle for you. You are reassured. Reason is fully equipped with the latest weapons technology. But, to your amazement, despite superior tactics and a number of undeniable victories, reasons is laid low."_ -Yann Martel, Life of Pi

* * *

 **Yes, I did just end that chapter with a quote from 'Life of Pi'. What'cha gonna do about it?**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	14. It's All Coming Together (And Apart)

**Salutations~!**

 ***dodges rotten fruit*  
** ***ducks behind wooden barrier*  
** ***peeks out***

 **I'M SO SORRY! THIS IS SO LATE! IT'S JUST THAT LIFE HAS BEEN IN THE WAY, WELL, NOT REALLY, IT'S JUST THAT I'VE BEEN LAZY-**

 ***boos echo from audience*  
*more rotten fruit flies*  
*ducks back behind barrier***

 **Though none of you have pointed it out, there's a bit of a plot hole in Chapter 3, regarding the seeing spell. So, I'll quietly rework the rules- my excuse is that, because of the thinning-yet-still-there dimensional barrier, and how hurried they were, the time is not fixed for the look-see and a bit spontaneous. Heh, it's pretty lame, but much appreciation if you accept it!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 14

The snow was only piling up higher.  
Only white existed outside the window- not a spot of any other colour. It was so pure that it ever-so-slightly burned the irises of those who gazed upon it. With not a single sign of letting up, it seemed to only be getting worse and worse. Even just pressing their hands up against the window, they could feel the cold seeping into their skin.

It really was a bit terrifying. Through all the horrible times in the nations lives, through war and betrayal and terrible, terrible loss, they had experienced a lot worse than this. But, this was frightening in it's own right. After all, this was supernatural, otherworldly. Even those familiar with magic and spirits and the exploitation of the world around them were feeling daunted- they had never really experienced anything on this scale before.  
But, really, the most worrying thing was that they had no control over their situation.

Their reality was being altered this way and that by some impersonal, unknown being. Something they couldn't see or identify or even comprehend. They couldn't even begin to fight back, to use their own power. So far, nothing that had occurred had been properly caused by them, and that was definitely the most terrifying thing of all.

The morale within their group sunk lower and lower. Even the eccentric not-England seemed to have mellowed down a bit (even though he still was ever the nuisance they had begun to become accustomed to in a mere about-day). Eventually, another meeting was called in what seemed to be the evening of the day the Englands had switched, to discuss smaller (yet still possibly important matters), and to try to at least start heightening the group atmosphere a little.

Norway and Romania had been the ones who suggested it. They were probably the only ones keeping a more level head (but they also had immense pressure on them, being the only seemingly sane nations among them with the ability to use magic). They were spending every second consulting each other and scribbling down theories, none of which appeared to be unveiling any overly important revelations. Still, they were at least trying to do something to help them in their situation...

So, they all assembled on and around the cramped couch, and a somewhat uncomfortable reigned for about a minute, until the silence was broken by Romania.  
"Uh... Well, I guess Norway and I will start talking about the little we've found out," he hesitantly spoke up.  
Norway's gaze seemed to be directed toward one of the windows, still expressionless, as usual, "Though it isn't much, there is something that we've noticed."  
His voice, though seemingly attempting to be it's average, deadpan tone, sounded a little shaken, "Magic is a very complicated process. Understanding each of it's elements does not simply happen, you must spend many weeks on it. Unfortunately, it seems we don't have 'many weeks'. Furthermore, whatever-this-is seems to completely throw all rules of magic previously accumulated out the window, so we can't just refer on past experience, as we don't have any."

Romania continued off from the Norwegian, "We can only observe the little details and try to make sense of those. There has been one thing that seems prominent, so we'll start off from that... You see, in average circumstances, the physical use of magic has extremely strict rules, which are much too long and complicated to explain right now. But, these rules seem to be altered by the new dimension- or at least, dimensional middle ground- we find ourselves in now.

Then, he snapped his fingers, and a small flame appeared within his palm. This caused various exclamations from everyone in the group, except for Norway (still looking out the window), and Oliver (being his usual creepy self). The Romanian proceeded to move his wrist in small, lazy circles, making the fire dance. For his final trick, he flicked his wrist upwards, and the fire flew up to the ceiling, then paused in midair about 6 inches below the ceiling for a few seconds. Then, it exploded into pieces like a firework, each ember snuffing out before they could hit the ground.  
"Whoa! That was so cool!" America exclaimed, "You were literally playing with fire!"  
Similar, awed outcries came from the various nations in the room.

Romania allowed himself a small smirk at this reaction. Noticing his smug demeanor, Norway, with a subdued-yet-annoyed expression, spawned a small ice crystal floating above his hand. He waved his pointer finger in circles, causing the ice to increase and fly around his finger. Once the flying crystals were of reasonable numbers, he whipped his hand foward with almost inhuman speed, and caused them to go flying toward the wall next to the fire. Unbelievably, they not only stuck to the wall, frost spreading over wooden planks, but also stayed there, the heat of the nearby fire not affecting it at all. It stayed there for a few seconds, before Norway let his hand go slack, and they melted almost instantly (along with the subsequent water evaporating somehow).

Oliver seemed to be under the element of surprise for a moment, but then he grinned, "Oh~! I see how it is!"  
With a simple flick of the hand, a knife quickly shot up from the kitchen into his hand. The formerly entralled nations were snapped out of it, unnerved by a deadly weapon in Oliver's hands.  
Fortunately, instead of attempting to murder anybody, he lifted his knife up with some invisible force and sent it flying toward the door. It was imbedded in the wood.

A distasteful glance was sent the not-England's way before Romania continued, "As you can see from that little display, Norway and I posess some magical abilities. ...And both Englands, apparently."  
Oliver simply shrugged at this.  
Germany frowned, "Your magic show was entertaining, but, may I ask, what does this have to do with 'new revelations', albeit somewhat small ones?"

Norway again seemed to be half-engaged in the conversation, drumming his fingers against an armrest, little ice crystals appearing and disappearing at each touch, "What we just performed blatantly disregards the normal- and strict- rules of magic. In an average situation, that wouldn't work. Altering the world like that is actually impossible, spawning something out of virtually nothing. Things like seeing spells and potion-making create something out of something of equal value- the seeing spell taking advantage of power invested in words, words which offer up the caster's own energy, and potion-making much the same, expect with ingredients. But, creating something out of a thing of unequal value would normally disrupt the way of things. It either wouldn't occur at all, or if the caster forced it, then it would have to take value of something nearby- most commonly the caster themselves. So, this is very odd. Very, very... Odd..."  
He trailed off at the last part, as if thinking deeply about something. The Romanian had his brow furrowed, too, like he was also trying to have something occur to him.

France sighed, "So what if energy isn't flowing correctly, or whatever you said. It won't help us get out of here."

Serendipitously, Norway and Romania seemed to be hit by the exact same realisation. Their heads snapped to look at each other, somehow not getting whiplash, and they seemed to be communicating through their eyes. Romania's eyes widened, and he exclaimed, "Yes! That's it!"  
He jumped to his feet as if hit by a sudden shock, eyes wide and shocked, and Norway took to his own feet, if in a less hurried way.

Alarmed, Alfred cried, "What is it?!"  
Vladimir grinned, "It seems we know how to get out of here."  
"W-What?! What is it?!" A desperate Feliciano asked.

Even Lukas allowed himself a small smile, "Strictly speaking, if there are no rules of energy and value... Then we could possibly alter what universe we're in!"  
Vladimir was almost stumbling over his words, "Normally, that would be virtually impossible. The energy used would not only take years to transfer into words, but it would also be much more value and energy this universe even holds... But, since things are awry here... We could do it without any consequences!"  
His final utterance was triumphant and prideful, and the nations felt hope beginning to stir within them.  
"So... We could get out?!" Alfred exclaimed happily.  
Lukas closed his eyes and crossed his arms, seemingly satisfied, "Yes... Strictly speaking."

Excited voices clambered over each other, asking questions to the two and consulting each other.  
"We're gonna get outta here!"  
"...It couldn't be that simple, could it?"  
"It's our only shot!"  
"I guess we have to rely on blind faith..."  
"Well, we don't have a better idea."  
A small argument begun breaking out, but Lukas quietened them with a simple question, "There is only one problem, though... How are we going to get the Englands to their respective dimensions?"

Floored, scared silence took over, and Vladimir and Lukas shared worried glances. Oliver observed them with a small-yet-smug smile.  
Vladimir sighed, "We can't simply use the lack of rules here. No matter what enforces energy and value, magic always requires focus. It's difficult enough to transport 10 nations back to a dimension that we're closely familiar with. To switch two from dimensions that we barely know anything about... It's simply much too risky. A whole number of things could go wrong...:  
Before anyone else could say anything, Oliver cut in, "I'm the one who managed to switch our places, remember? I'm sure I could figure out what happened, and transfer us back... It's not like I want to be here."

Lukas looked at him suspiciously, "It's as you say, you're the one who switched you and our England. That puts you in a suspicious place. Why should we entrust you with the life of one of our friends?"  
Oliver shrugged, "It's either trust me, or not know how to bring him back. Your choice."  
Vladimir frowned, "Hey... Maybe he's right. Do we have any other choice?"

Lukas glared coldly at Vladimir, "We have _plenty_ of other choices, mind you. I would do much more drastic things that trust _it_."  
Oliver flinched slightly at the use of the pronoun.  
The Romanian growled, "Why are you so repulsed by them, anyway?! They're just alternate versions of us! I'm not sure, but I think that if he were planning to kill us, he would've tried by now!"  
The Norwegian let loose some rarely-seen empassioned anger, "How come you're so trusting of it, and the other _things_? I don't know if you live in your own little fantasy-land, but maybe, if they want to kill us, they might use some strategy! Gain our trust, then back-stab us! After all, you should know a lot about that!"  
Raw anger seemed to overtake Vladimir, driven even further by Lukas's last remark, "Maybe if you weren't so mistrusting and suspicious of others, you could learn to have some empathy, instead of being so cold-hearted!"

Soon, they completely went off the topic of Oliver, and began to cruelly scald each other with mistake after mistake they've made in their long lives. The other nations would've intervened, but they both seemed so _dangerous_. Power resonated off both of them, air growing colder next to Lukas and warmer next to Vladimir, two warring polar opposites. Lukas seemed to have dropped his mask almost fully, unleashing anger and hatred all-so-rarely seen. Vladimir was going all-out, shouting and violently accusing Lukas with each word. They were each other's unfair juries, judging with horrid anger.  
Their outburst somehow quietened down to a natural end. They were both crying, tears pouring down their faces. But, instead of trembling with anger at each other, they were trembling with fear and guilt and hurt. Each lashing word that had directed at each other had hit squarely and painfully, and they seemed to be horribly wounded, a monsterous standstill.

But, what had driven them to this? Lukas had thrown away his mask in a heartbeat, left only with tears and trembles, when he was usually deadpan and calm. Vladimir had been so very cruel, and was left only with guilt and hurt, when he was usually forgiving and laid-back. It was so absurdly out of character it was almost laughable, if not for the serious situation. Then, the others saw how distraught they looked. They realised that they had piled all the stress onto the two, with unnecessarily high expectations. Even if they hadn't meant it, they had selfishly expected them to seamlessly find a way out and a way to get back Arthur, without a regard on how that might wear on them.

Before the others could even consider trying to comfort them, Lukas wiped the tears from his eyes and did his best to reapply his mask. Vladimir did much the same.  
The Norwegian bit his lip, "Sorry for that... ...moment of weakness. Uh... The best thing to do now is to just get out of here, while we still have a chance that might go away."  
Alfred nervously asked, "Are you two okay...?"  
Vladimir looked down, "Yeah, yeah. Sorry... We're fine."  
They clearly weren't, but the conversation had been forcibly shut down.

Lukas seemed to have recovered, at least on the surface, "Um... Anyway, let's perform this. We're all ready, right?"  
Murmured affirmations were delieved.  
"Okay, then... Oliver, I suppose you're not going to help? No, don't answer that... We can do it ourselves," Vladimir muttered.  
Oliver tilted his head and looked on with curiousity.

They looked each other in the eyes, and seemed to come to a silent agreement. Suddenly, the air radiated with energy. It overtook, buzzing with pure vibrance. Everything blurred at the edges, hazy and gross. Nothing made sense, and the last thing Alfred remembered was Vladimir and Lukas screaming in pain, before black.  
And grey.  
And white, all painful.

Then he was lying with his eyes shut on a cold metal floor.

* * *

 **You enjoying that cliffhanger~?**

 **...I SEE YOU, SHIPPERS! GET AWAY FROM MY PERFECTLY INNOCENT BROMANCE!**

 **Um, anyway. Lukas and Vladimir breaking down like that wasn't all caused by the situation. It was years and years of bottled up emotions, finally brought to the surface by extreme stress. How fun...**

 **But, yeah. My magic system is a gross Frankenstien's-monster of Fullmetal Alchemist and Inheritance Cycle...**

 **Argh! So many italics in this chapters! Sorry, emphasis is annoying to implement well...**

 **Side note: This is the longest chapter so far, at 2642 words, including the AN...**

 **Hope you enjoyed~!  
**


	15. PLEASE READ, IMPORTANT UPDATE

**Hello, lovely readers!**

 **Oh my god. I'm so sorry. This fanfic hasn't been updated in so damn long (over a year? wow, I've set a new record for disappointment)** **, and I'm the only one here to blame. I don't really have an excuse. I guess I just ran out of steam for this story? Which is lame, I know, but that's what happened.**

 **I come here to you now, in this author's note, to bring you some good news and some bad news. Okay, what do you want first? Ha, sorry, it's not like you can answer. Because it directly feeds into the good news, I'll guess I'll give you the bad news first.**

 ** _Bad news: This version of Shattered Reflections, as it is now, is going to be discontinued._ Yep, gone for good. Never gonna be given another chapter ever again in this world.**

 ** _Good news: I am rebooting the entire thing_ , including plot, characters, themes, tone, everything. The only thing that will be the same is the first few 1000 words because I wanted to see how I could rewrite it before I decided to completely reboot it.**

 **I know a lot of you are probably going to be saddened by this turn of events, and I am, too. This is the most support I've ever gotten for anything I've written, and I'm so thankful for all of you for reading it. I thank all of you for sticking through it, reading all my ugly writing from 2015/2016 and dealing with my continuity errors and grammar mistakes.  
The reason I'm rebooting it is that I'm currently just not happy with how I wrote. If it were simply my old writing style, I would just suck it up and keep going, because honestly that's not a big enough reason. But, it's just that I hate the world, the characters, the plot, the everything. I hate how none of the 2ps have proper reasons for why they act the way they do. I hate how I used to wing it every single chapter, only having the most basic outline of a feasible plan. I hate it I stole plot points from other fanfics, and didn't add depth to any of the characters properly.**

 **I'm rebooting it because I want you guys to have a more quality experience with my work. I want to be able to write something that people will truly be moved by, that people will think about into the dregs of night, wondering what's going to happen next. I want you guys to properly care about this story, this narrative, and I simply can't do that with the starting point I gave myself.**

 **I'm not completely sure how I'm going to reboot it. I will probably make a whole new story for it, but I don't want people who haven't read this to come back and not see where the new story is. Possibly I will post the first chapter at the end of this and then redirect the audience to the other story, who knows. However I do it, I will do it.  
I am also going to be publishing on ArchiveOfOurOwn. The reason I haven't been active on here is that I'm mostly hanging out on there now. To be honest, I'm gonna start publishing my works on there on here, too, in hopes of attracting a bigger audience.**

 **If you guys were wondering, here are some of my other current projects in the Hetalia fandom:**

 **-The Sun on his Scales  
A twist on the mermaid AU trope, wherein Mathias is a mermaid who has never left his lake, the other Nordics are land-walkers who buy a house near it, and he can't contain his curiousity, despite the fact he will doom either him or his entire race if they see him. It has DenNor and SuFin, and eventually escalates into a drama with themes of the weather, isolation, and being a mythical creature.  
It's part of what I like to call the Hidden Magic AU, an extended universe with Hetalia characters featuring as much mythology as I can stuff in.**

 **-The Late Train to Barcelona  
A twist on the flower shop AU trope, wherein Feliciano and Lovino are demigods who take on missions across Europe, Antonio is a mysterious owner of a shop that sells enchanted flowers, and Barcelona holds secrets. It has Spamano and background GerIta, and will become a mystery involving themes of letting go of the past.  
Also in the Hidden Magic AU, since it's main purpose is to explore the strange stories that occur in this world, with only some people and a sort of importance only known to them.**

 **I have other possible stories planned for the Hidden Magic AU, such as a highschool AU following the micronations when Peter discovers he's a fairy, a vague idea of a story following Vasile (Romania), the vampire growing his annoying, immortal family, and a possible main story following Alfred, the human who shouldn't have an aura. The last one is definitely more hesitant, because I would prefer to keep it with less overly important stories and more domestic, small things.**

 **Anyway, that's enough babbling on about something not even related to Shattered Reflections. I'll probably start posting them on too, by the way.**

 **The next chapter here will probably be the first chapter of the new, rebooted Shattered Reflections. If you guys wanna know, it starts off with Arthur seeing his reflection change, and said reflection climbing through the mirror...  
** **It'll include some popular interpretations of the 2ps but also ideas that I had for them on my own (and with my friend), and also some sort-of OCs of Arthur's extended family...**

 **So, I hope this update will bring you more hope than despair! I'm going to try hard to make the reboot so, so much better.  
Thank you all for everything you've done for me.  
-Mythic**


	16. REWRITE - Mirror Image

**Hello, lovely readers!**

 **If you didn't read the author's note, this is a complete rewrite of the whole story. I'm sorry if you were enjoying the previous story, but I promise this one will be much more thought out and compelling.**

 **Oh, and this one will be much darker.**

 **Happy Halloween!**

* * *

The sound of the kettle was loud and piercing, and England didn't know it any other way. Many people had told him the sound was annoying, or unnecessary, but he didn't take their words into consideration. For him, it was more calming than anything - something familiar that he could rely on to always have that shrill noise as he prepared for his day.  
When it slowly quietened down, he selected a teacup from his cabinet, something pretty and china, maybe from the 19th century. It was as he was choosing a tea bag that his phone rang, a noisy disturbance. He grumbled and continued to make the tea with magic, not needing to even look at the process, and went to answer his phone. It was a blocked number, but he didn't let that bother him.

"Hello?" Arthur asked. He was trying his best to be a gentleman - not letting his voice convey the irritation of being phoned at 5:30am. Nobody responded on the other side, and he frowned.  
He tried again, "Hello? Is anyone there?"  
Listening closely, he managed to hear breathing through the phone line. If this was a prank call, it wasn't a very funny one. He wondered if it was Alfred or if some local kid didn't realise that they had discovered the personal number of a living nation.  
"Arthur Kirkland here, who is this?" he was getting impatient with whoever this was. The breathing got heavier and then they hung up. He sighed and put it back down, returning to his tea. It was stirring itself, and he let himself physically take control by taking out the spoon and picking it up by the handle.

Who could've called him? It probably wasn't another nation. The one that seemed mostly likely to do something like that to him was definitely America, but he liked his sleep. Because England was holding the G8 meeting at noon, the nations could sleep in at least a bit. His internal clock had woken him up but he doubted that would be the same for America due to jet lag.  
He decided not to think too hard about it. He needed to get himself into a state of mind able to deal with 7 others, and the tea definitely would do that. Maybe he would have enough time to watch some TV. As he started to make his way into the lounge room, he took a quick glance at his reflection in his full-length mirror.  
It wasn't really his reflection, though.

It had his face, but that was the only similarity. Everything else belonged to a stranger. Instead of his sandy blonde hair, the reflection had a strawberry blonde, and his sensible black suit was replaced with a pastel sweater and bowtie. Instead of being green, its eyes were bright blue, a sharp contrast to the hair. Everything behind it was darkness, and it was cut off from the torso up, everything beneath also dark. It was wringing its hands together, which were also splashed with some sort of black substance.  
England stared. He had never seen anything like this before, in all his long years of magic. He had never seen any sort of spirit which even remotely resembled him. Was it some trick or apparition? What would someone gain from changing the person in the mirror? Maybe it was some sort of long-distance communication device, was this thing trying to talk to him?  
It didn't seem like it. The not-him seemed just as surprised as he did, if not more. England opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure if he should even try to hold a conversation with whatever-it-was.

The reflection seemed to be trying to get a grip on the situation. After a little while, it broke out into a wide but seemingly forced smile and said, "Hello!"  
Its accent was distinctly British, albeit a little unlike his own, and seemed to hold a slight edge to it, no doubt because of the situation. England didn't know how to respond, if to respond.  
He tried to think rationally, figuring that he needed to find out as much about this situation as possible, "...Who are you?"  
The reflection shrugged, "That depends, who are you?"  
England frowned, the response seemed somewhat uncomfortable. Who he was depended on the other person? The idea was connected to the concept of secrecy, and it reminded him very much about how a nation was a human to someone who didn't know they exist.

"Arthur Kirkland… My name is Arthur," England said cautiously. When it came to magical creatures, he usually didn't have to be so careful, but somehow it felt right to use his human name.  
The reflection frowned and cartoonishly stroked its chin, the black substance rubbing off on their face, "Well, I find that strange. After all, I'm Arthur Kirkland!"  
England made a noise of surprise. This reflection was him in some capacity? No, no, it was just bluffing to throw him off. Possibly it had also chosen this form to confuse him, it was merely nothing, he shouldn't be getting so worried.  
But then the reflection broke out into a devilish grin, "But, those aren't our real names, are they? If you really are Arthur, then your proper name should be the England! That's who I am, after all…"

England's eyes widened, surprised about how quickly it jumped the gun, "I… Who… Yes. I am England."  
He said it in a slow, cautious tone, unsure of how to properly reply. This not-him had the knowledge of what he was, and he was still convinced it was some sort of spirit or creature pretending to be him. The reflection took its hand down from its chin and tilted its head.  
"Say, Mr. Fake Me. That act you're putting on is rather convincing, but it would be best if you stop now," it said, having dropped its grin. England was confused its strange mannerisms, always shifting its body around and never staying in one position.  
England glared at it, "If anyone is putting on an act, it's you. I don't know who you are or why you're imitating me, but I suggest you stop."

The reflection pouted. Hard.  
"You're no fun! Just give it up and maybe I won't hurt you."  
England narrowed his eyes, "I should be saying the same to you. I am Arthur Kirkland, I am the real England, and I suggest you stop doing this before I destroy you."  
They had somewhat of a staring contest, before the reflection seemed to realise something, and that infernal grin returned.

"Hey, Mr. Fake Me? I think I have a resolution to this conflict! If you really are me, then please say! What did I, you, us, do yesterday?" the reflection happily cheered, as if he had just solved some global issue.  
England frowned further, "What I did yesterday? I prepared for the G8 meeting that I'm holding at my place today."  
The reflection stared, "Well, I'm not sure what a Gee-8 is, but I don't think making up words will help your case, Mr. Not Me! Now, let's get this over with nice and quickly so I can get back to dealing with America."  
Arthur frowned, "Dealing with America? What-"  
Before he could continue, the reflection slammed his fist against the glass. England stumbled back. He heard the smashing of glass, but no fragments fell from the mirror. Instead it had black, spindling cracks, that couldn't have been from his own mirror. To be sure, he traced his fingers over them, but there were as smooth as before.

The reflection frowned, "That didn't do much… Well, I'll just have to-"  
He interrupted himself by sending a fist at the glass again. It had much of the same effect, but England stumbled back a little further, pressing himself against the wall. He started to ready his magic, just in case. He started to recall all the magic he had used in the past few days, reassuring himself how he had only used it for the most mundane of tasks. He was ready and willing to use as much as he could to deal with this thing.  
The not-him punched yet again, and the glass was becoming more and more obscured with black. He couldn't properly see it anymore, only flashes of pastel colours and its face, furrowed in concentration.

"Maybe you should just give up, hey? Maybe I should stop wasting my time on you!" the reflection exclaimed.  
Arthur said, "I'm not doing anything! Whatever's happening-"  
"Shut up!"  
He could vaguely see the reflection rearing back to strike one more time, but this time there was no sound of shattering, and no black lines appeared. Instead, all of the black was gone, and England could see his entire body, including his bottom half. The black substance was now visible, and it was with disgust that he realised it was blood, with glass shards sticking out which must have been from when he was punching the mirror. He could now suddenly see the room behind the reflection, what seemed to be apartment much like the one he was in right then, for when he needed to stay in London. But none of this was the most shocking thing that happened, mere passing thoughts. After all, the reflection was sticking out of the mirror.  
It was as if the glass had stretched, much like plastic wrapping, and it had entirely come out of the mirror after the fist.

The reflection stared at him. He stared back.  
Suddenly, the not-glass popped, much like a bubble. The background behind the reflection instantly disappeared, revealing the wallpaper behind the mirror, and it tumbled out, right in front of England in the cramped hallway.  
"Where am I?" it said, before Arthur ran, into his living room and away from the reflection, dropping his tea cup in the process. It staggered up, using a painting on the wall as leverage, tearing it down in the process. England backed himself up against the door, before making some of the objects around him float. It was mostly for intimidation, to let the reflection know to back down, but he was willing to use them in whatever way if it were to attack.

The reflection paused when it saw his powers, and England thought that it was appropriately scared, so he sighed in relief.  
"Whatever you are, I will easily be able to defeat you, so just go back where you-"  
It looked back, saw the kitchen, then glanced back at England. It took a deep breath, as if readying itself for something. Then it suddenly broke out into a wicked smile, "Well, not if I defeat you first!"  
It suddenly ran as he had done, but up to the kitchen. Arthur frowned. Not if it defeated him first? What did that mean?  
He heard the sounds of his draws being hurriedly flung open, and he hurried up the hallway to see his entire kitchen being ransacked. But it was with magic, every single drawer and cupboard and even the fridge and pantry were being opened with magic.

He gaped. The only things that were capable of using that kind of magic were nations with the magic touch. What did that mean? How could this thing be a nation?  
His thoughts were cut off as he realised that the reflection had been looking through his kitchen to find his knives. It made them all levitate, 5 or so wickedly looking down on him.  
"You have less knives then I would've preferred, plus they're all rather blunt, but I can make this work," it said, still grinning.  
England didn't know what to do. Normally, he would be confident in his ability to fight any magical creature, but this thing had the magic of a nation.

He didn't end up having much time to do anything when all of a sudden, a knife was sent to plunge into his flesh.  
Arthur quickly sent out a wave of magic and knocked it away before it reached him, stumbling backwards at the sudden attack. He similarly deflected a few of the follow up attacks, mind going into overdrive as it went into a familiar pattern, analysing everything around him in an effort of self-preservation. He had to take things seriously.  
The reflection seemed to playing with him, almost. It didn't seem perturbed by how he was easily deflecting every single attack, and it didn't look like it was being serious, either. Perhaps it was gauging how strong he was? He tried his best to use the least power possible to deflect each attack, to keep the extent of his abilities hidden.

He wasn't attacking yet, maybe just so he could judge how dangerous the reflection was and how much force it required to defeat. He didn't want to run out of magic, after all. But, it was supremely difficult to tell considering how it also seemed to be conserving power, and England was considering just attacking full-force to get it done quickly and hoping that he had enough magic left to handle it.  
As England began to back away near the door, the reflection unexpectedly shut it, and he heard the lock click. He growled and dodged the next knife instead of deflecting it, moving closer to the other door, hanging wide open to the hallway leading to his bedroom. The reflection noticed this, but before it could do something similar, he slipped through. He heard it yelling but didn't look back, letting his knowledge of the apartment give him an advantage, using his magic to make sure no knives would get him.

But the door slammed shut and locked, and when he tried to unlock this one with magic, he discovered that the reflection was blocking it from his magic such as he had physically blocked its knives.  
England whipped around, taking down his taxing shield and deflecting each knife individually as he had before. They were getting faster now and harder to combat, despite the fact there were only 5 - the reflection clearly knew how to handle them well. But it still wasn't difficult to him, though he was getting increasingly concerned about how much magic he was using. He hadn't had a magic fight like this in a very long time, so he was unsure on how to properly pace himself. As he thought about this, one particular knife flew towards him, and then dodged his deflection.  
It got him square in the stomach.

Arthur wretched from the pain for a second before he tore it out, far used to this kind of pain after centuries of much worse. The reflection raised an eyebrow and he knew that he was cornered, literally. He had to either defeat the horrible thing, or escape in some way. A knife wasn't much, but he was scared that it was going to lead to much worse, so the nation started to get more serious than he already was.  
He leant back against the door, and used magic to propel him backwards, causing it to shatter into pieces and him to get inside the room. His opponent blinked and its knives faltered for a second, clearly not expecting him to damage to his own household. This gave him the opportunity to launch a sudden counterattack, and he sent his side table flying towards it, everything still on it.

He sent it so quickly that the reflection had no time to effectively block or dodge it, and it was hit square on, sending it flying backwards a few feet, its knives falling to the ground. England took the opportunity to take them himself, sending them flying towards the reflection. It blocked them with magic and the table, then tossed the latter away, practically spitting, "Don't use knives against me!"  
It seemed enraged, the grin now missing and a new fury in its eyes. Arthur knew that this meant it was probably now going to unleash more of its power, so he hopped onto the bed to get leverage, and slid his wardrobe across the room to block the door.  
His eyes widened when the reflection utterly destroyed the wardrobe, turning it into splinters and tearing up every piece of clothing inside. That certainly would've taken a lot of magic.  
Then England realised.

Using both magic and physical force, he sent everything in the room towards the reflection, it destroying every single one. In the meantime, he also had to block all of the attacks from the knives, which were growing into a frenzy. He began to be stabbed and slashed more, some only tiny cuts, but many more extreme. Eventually, he ran out of the things to launch, and in his distraction to find another alternative, a knife suddenly managed to slash his left arm right down to the bone. He exclaimed in pain, and tripped off the bed. Before he could be attacked again, he sent the entire bed launching towards it, and it was appropriately completely obliterated. Everything in the room had been ripped to shreds, and judging by the blood flowing out of his wounds, that included him.  
But if he had any chance, if the reflection's magic was even remotely similar to his, hopefully he would be able to get away. When it stepped towards him, knives primed, he suddenly sent a powerful wall of force towards it, making it stumble back for a second and giving him enough time to run out of the room.

"Don't use dirty tricks! That just means you're losing!" it shouted after him, now aiming the knives towards his legs. He managed to stop most of them with the draining amount of magic he was using as a shield, but one still managed to hit his right leg and he had to stumble into the kitchen with a limp. He then sent the refrigerator barrelling towards it, and it only managed to just tear the thing to pieces in time before it was crushed.  
Since most things in the kitchen weren't big enough, he broke down the door to get into the lounge room, his final resort.  
He whipped around to see more knives being sent after him, and after being stabbed in the left shoulder, he launched the sofa at it.  
The sofa was only half-destroyed when the reflection suddenly fainted, and he felt huge relief go through him. He stared, panting and sweating, almost half-expecting it to get up somehow. But it didn't, and he had won.

He stood there, shaking, and tried his best to organise his thoughts. He needed to… He needed to…  
In an effort to pull himself together, he decided to make a list of what he had to do.  
'1. Make sure reflection is actually unconscious, make sure it is reasonably restrained.  
2\. Call Norway and Romania.  
3\. Patch self up.'  
He took a deep breath, and went to complete Step 1. He cautiously stepped over the reflection, pinned down by what was left of the sofa. It was definitely unconscious, so he pushed the remainders of the sofa further onto it so it couldn't get up, adding the TV to the weight for good measure. If it cracked any of its bones, it would be for the better. He also took all of the knives, each of them bloody, and hid them in the cushions of one of the remaining pieces of furniture, not sure of what else to do.

There wasn't much more that he could do as he was, so he used his right arm (the left was too thoroughly mangled) to take out his phone that was still somehow in pocket. He quickly opened it, looking through his contacts and quickly tapping Norway's. To his frustration, the nation didn't answer, even when he called for a second and third time. For all the times Norway could've been occupied, it had to have been now?  
He realised all too quickly that he may be dealing with a similar situation, so he quickly moved on to Romania. He started to shake even more when there wasn't an answer from him either, but that was probably just the blood loss.  
Who else could he call? There was nobody else he knew of with the magic touch, and barely anyone knew of magic-

At that, he knew he his only viable option. They would be quicker, anyway.  
He felt a little panicked when his first call wasn't answered, he knew it was early but it wasn't that early, right? They would still answer, they should still answer, otherwise he had no other options and he would have to deal with this himself-  
He felt another big relief go through him when it was finally answered.  
"The fuck do you want?" said a grumpy, tired Scottish accent.  
England immediately said, "I need your help, right now."  
His tone seemed to deliver the urgency of his situation, because Scotland replied in a more serious manner, "What's wrong?"  
"It's a magic problem, a very dangerous one, but Norway and Romania aren't responding, so I think they're dealing with it, too. Please come to my apartment in London, bring the other three, too. And stop at my house on the way, get those magical blocking gloves that I've used before."

The other's voice got demanding, but England knew it was out of worry, "Arthur, what's happening? What's wrong?"  
"Look, it's complicated. I'll explain when you get here. Just get the other three, get the gloves, and come here. Fast is best, so maybe take a plane and get Seren to get them. Please, just get here and I'll explain. I have things to do while I'm waiting…"  
He shifted as he felt the blood continuing to drip down his body, feeling the familiar sensations of haziness and weakness.  
There was a pause, before Scotland answered, "...Okay, but you better have a good reason for this. Be careful, yeah?"  
"Yeah."  
Arthur hung up before his brother could say anything more.

He felt his injured body ache even more just at the realisation he'd have to clamber over the sofa and TV he had piled upon the reflection, which was blocking the doorway. At least his medical supplies were in the bathroom, the only room where things hadn't been torn to pieces.  
Trying his best to not let the blood loss get to him, he began limping forward.

* * *

 **So, what did you guys think? Better? Worse?**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
